Vengeance
by Vashka
Summary: Harry Potter is dead. Voldemort is king. But Hermione Granger is alive, and she is very, very angry. DHr
1. Default Chapter

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Vengeance**

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling

A/N: Well, after lurking for years and years, I finally decided to jump on the bandwagon and write something. This is unbetaed, except for my own quick proofreading, if anyone would like to offer their services, I would be most appreciative. Don't know if I will continue this, I am not sure how much I like the story and characterization... Anywho, comments and criticism always appreciated.

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_Revenge is a dish best served cold._

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The thief was a crafty one, he'd give him that.

As Draco Malfoy took in the scene of the crime, he wondered for the millionth time since that morning exactly how the thief pulled it off.

The morning started out as usual, wake up at half past six, shower and dress by seven, and breakfast in the blue room with mother at seven fifteen. Neat. Orderly. Just as he liked to start the day. Or at least until he had his first cup of coffee.

The trouble really started with the arrival of the Daily Prophet. The owl came on time as usual, and was deposited nicely beside his plate. However, he could hardly miss the headline screaming "ROBBERY AT GRINGOTTS!!!!!"

He must have looked dumbfounded, as his mother, usually oblivious to most events in the mornings, commented, "What ever is the matter, dear? You look so pale."

He wordlessly handed her the paper, and exited the room on her breathless gasp.

So here he was, trying to make sense of an impossible crime. Really, who could possibly break into, let alone steal from, one of the most magically fortified buildings in the world? Lord Voldemort had tripled the defense of the bank since his ascension, rendering it unassailable.

Or so they thought.

He approached Terry Boot, a lower official from the ministry he vaguely remembered as a Ravenclaw from his schooldays. They were the only ones currently in the vault, as the other officials had already completed the preliminary survey.

"Boot."

Terry nearly jumped out of his skin at the summons, and hastily stammered, "M... Malfoy! I mean, Sir, how can I help you?"

Draco smirked, never getting tired of the rush of power he felt that came from being in Voldemort's inner circle. With the end of the war, all the loyal death eaters were granted high positions in the new government. With the deaths of Dumbledore and Harry Potter, the resistance lost heart, and eventually all those lowborn muggle-loving fools were caught. Well, almost all anyway...

There were, of course, those that fled to other countries, but most were caught, mainly due to the concentrated efforts of Draco Malfoy and his underlings. The capture of such important traitors gave even more prestige to the young man, especially the capture of the rogue Professor McGonagall. Yet, even as Draco relentlessly searched, he could not find the one person that irritated him the most, the one person that he would howl in glee if he were to catch.

He couldn't find Hermione Granger.

One lousy Mudblood, one disgusting, filthy... It wasn't even known that she was alive. Her death was publicized, of course, to demoralize the populace after the last battle, but her body was never found. The bodies of The Weasel and Potty were found quite close together, as The Weseal had died protecting Potthead from some minor attack. This apparently caused Potter to go into a mindless fit of grief, rendering him easy pickings for an opportunistic dark lord.

Idiot.

Granger was easily the only one of the trio who was worth anything when it came to fighting. She could think logically, impassively, and he had often thought there was much Slytherin in her. Unfortunate blood...

Draco _knew_ she was alive. And he would be the one to find her, the one to finally grind that spirit into dust.

Draco wondered what might have happened if Granger were there fighting alongside them. From all accounts of the battle, she was not present at their side, but leading the troops at the flank. Granger, surely, would have kept Potter stabilized long enough to escape to a hideaway where he could have gotten a grip on himself. All the better for Voldemort, then. After the death of the hero, the rest of 'Dumbledore's Army' was completely demoralized, and it was a complete slaughter.

Draco had participated in the battle, and accorded himself well, if not spectacularly. Fighting as near to the back as he could and still get credit,(He _was _a Slytherin after all, and Slytherins just didn't do well in situations were their necks were on the line) he was more involved in the actual restoration of order to the wizarding world.

Voldemort's first order of business was to set up a new sort of government, one in which he was the Lord and Master. As the official new Wizard King of Britain, he set up a rigid caste system where muggleborns and magical creatures were allowed little to no rights, those of pureblood accorded full citizenship status, and halfbloods were established as a

sort of middle class, with some privileges. Those that surrendered to the will of Voldemort were granted clemency, all except the leaders of the opposing army. Those were given to the Dementors as a well deserved reward for serving their master so well.

While the Ministry was still in existence, it had a purely bureaucratic function, with mostly halfbloods working desk jobs. The real power lay with the nobility. Draco was granted the title of Lord Malfoy, Wizard Duke of York by Voldemort himself. The next order of business was to extend their influence to all the various wizarding communities of Europe.

Exciting stuff, that. Except for all this nasty burglary business, Draco Malfoy would be feeling as happy as... well, as happy as a Slytherin could get. (Excessive happiness just wasn't dignified after all)

Terry was still stalling, and Draco was beginning to become impatient.

"Boot, I am really starting to lose my temper. Do we know how this happened or not?"

"Well, Sir, from what we can gather, the thief snuck in totally undetected by any of the wards or alarm spells. This was obviously a very well planned operation. There is no evidence anyone was here, except for the missing object. No hair, no skin particles, no fingerprints, nothing. A key apparently opened the vault, although this lock is magically-keyed, and the only key is in possession of our Dark Majesty. There is no magical residue here in the vault, but there was one spell done in the vicinity."

"And what, pray tell, was that?"

Terry sighed. "An advanced sleeping spell. The guard who does rounds in the middle of the night was found asleep here not too long ago, and that was what triggered the search of the vault."

Draco was aghast, "You mean that is the guard wasn't found asleep, no one would have noticed that the robbery?"

Terry swallowed nervously, "That... That about sums it up sir."

Draco was positively seething. "You are dismissed." He briskly turned away from Terry and started to walk out of the vault, trying to control his temper and keep his face impassive...

"Sir, may I ask what was in this vault?"

Draco stopped short, turned and advanced upon the suddenly scared young man. He stopped close to Terry's face and spoke in a slow, menacing drawl,

"The ruin of us all."

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Hermione lay soaking happily in a huge vat of bubbles, surrounded by the flickering light of many candles. She read the headline of the Daily Prophet, and sighed contentedly.

She would have her revenge.


	2. Chapter Two

**Vengeance **

**Chapter Two**

**By Vashka**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything… really I don't. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling.

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_The object of art is to crystallize emotion into thought and then give it form.  
_**-****Delsarte**

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Draco Malfoy was long accustomed to the finer things in life. In fact, many would say that he was the wizarding world's foremost connoisseur of all things decadent and disgustingly expensive. Which is why, when meeting with his associates, he preferred to meet at less… conspicuous… places. The sort of places he usually would drop dead before he would even sneer in their direction.

Draco Malfoy walked through a narrow passageway off the main corridors of Knockturn Alley a few days after the robbery. As he observed the decaying bricks with disgust, a hag with most of her teeth missing tugged on his robes.

She grinned. "What's your pleasure, lordling?"

Draco stared in disbelief and disgust for a few seconds, before giving her his best glare. "Get away from me you disgusting creature, and don't ever speak to me that way again!"

As she scuttled away in fright, Draco shuddered at what 'pleasures' she had possibly alluded to. _Oh, that is an absolutely _disgusting _mental image! Ugh. Mental note: have the house elves burn these robes. If it wasn't so necessary to keep a low profile, I think I would have hexed her nose off._

Draco plodded along, mentally cursing the nasty old woman to dust. As it were, Draco was so preoccupied he almost missed his destination. He abruptly stopped at a small, rickety wooden entrance with a large sign overhead depicting a fat, ugly green animal-like thing. Faded letters over this monstrosity read 'The Lizard's Tongue.'

Before stepping into the pub, Draco casually took in his surroundings. No one was in the dank corridor except a passed-out old man lying on a heap of refuse a few feet away. Looking at the man suspiciously, he cast a quick spell to see if the old man was really unconscious. (Hey, it never hurt to be a bit paranoid these days) Finding all was as it seemed, he quickly pulled out a small bottle from his robes and unstoppered it. He plugged his nose delicately, grimaced, and then chugged the contents very quickly.

Draco's pale complexion looked a bit green for a moment, but then his features began to change. His blond hair darkened to brown, his pointed chin became rounded and soft, and his tall, lanky body shortened and gained weight. In a few moments, Draco Malfoy was gone, and in his place stood a rather uncomfortable looking Vincent Crabbe in ill-fitting robes.

_Damn it! Why can't Crabbe go on a bloody diet? I can't breathe! What the heck was that tailoring charm again? Argh… Let's see… Engorgement, elongation… Ah! Yes, that's it! Draco, you are a genius. I can make even Vince look good._

After straightening his clothing, Draco rather smugly entered the pub, and then immediately wished he hadn't. The décor really wasn't so bad for such a low-level establishment, not up to snuff for the Malfoy family, but then, not much was. The establishment really wasn't that dirty either. What was so off-putting was the smell. A mixture of old socks, tobacco smoke, and sour ale made Draco's sensitive olfactory nerves go haywire. He had to stop his gagging reflex, and he barely checked himself from pulling out his handkerchief and covering his nose and mouth. Not very manly, that.

Draco quickly scanned the Lizard for his target. Spotting him casually sipping a glass of ale, he casually sauntered over to his table and took the seat across from him in front of another glass. He carefully inspected it, and upon finding it dirty, gave his companion a sneer.

"Next time, _I _choose the destination"

His companion smirked, "What? This place is quiet, out of the way… Everything you asked for."

Draco glared, but as he was in Crabbe's body, the effect was lost on his companion. "You _know_ my sense of smell is incredibly strong… Greg. Even as Vince, I can still feel this stench permeate me."

Gregory Goyle simply smiled. "Let's talk business, shall we? I assume you want to get out of here as quickly as possible."

"Merlin, yes. Let's skip the pleasantries."

Goyle leaned closer to Draco, "I know that I could lose my head for this, but I think you need to know that you're being set up."

Draco sucked in a deep breath, almost choking on the stale air. When he had sufficiently recovered, he stammered, "What?!? I'm a bloody legend! They can't get rid of me!"

Goyle quickly glanced around the bar, and leaned closer to Draco and hissed, "Quiet! Remember who we are."

Draco remembered that he was currently occupying the body of one Vincent Crabbe, and that Crabbe was not in the habit of sitting blot upright with an expression of bloody murder. He slowly slouched down into his seat and managed to put on a dully puzzled expression.

Goyle, assured that Draco was sufficiently chastened, continued. "Now, through certain… sources… I have learned that someone has been planting ideas into our Dark Majesty's head. It seems that he is being fed information that you are not satisfied with your current status, and that you are planning an insurgence to take the Crown for yourself."

Draco choked on his ale. "And he believes this rubbish? With my heritage? With my record of service?"

His companion looked at him almost apologetically. "Sorry mate, but I can almost see his point. Your family is incredibly powerful, and you have proven yourself a very competent wizard. You are almost _too_ perfect a follower. Our king has become very paranoid now that the threat of Potter and Company is out of the way. It's only natural that he would turn and destroy any perceived threats to his power."

Draco leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. He looked at his companion and sighed. "Bloody hell."

Goyle grimaced, "Indeed. Bloody, _bloody_ hell. I heartily agree. As I am closely associated with you, if you take the fall, I likely will as well." He glanced at his watch and slowly drained the last of his tankard. "Well, hour's almost up. Want to leave and go somewhere more… sanitary?"

Draco smirked, "Please. But I think I will need to scrub my whole body ten times before I get this filth out of my skin. Never mind that polyjuice always makes me feel so… dirty afterwards."

Goyle stood up and headed for the door. "Lovely. I have the perfect place in mind."

* * *

The club was ancient, large, made completely out of moss-covered stone; it looked like something straight out of the middle ages. Which, of course, it was. The massive oak doors had intricate carvings of hideous demons and sadistic scenes from the underworld. The place even came complete with its own gloomy atmosphere. Elsewhere, it was a bright, almost cheerful night. Here, there was a feeling of danger, of some vague threat.

There was a sudden loud –crack- and two figures appeared.

Gregory Goyle checked his watch quickly and sighed. "Only a few more minutes. Thank Merlin for small favours."

Draco, meanwhile, was examining the club with a detached air. "'The White Devil'? I haven't been here in ages. Isn't this the club frequented by all of those doddering men too old to get it up anymore?"

Goyle chuckled a bit and said, "Now, now, no need for vulgarity. You really haven't been socializing much recently, have you? This is the most popular place for the socially conscious Wizard to be on Friday and Saturday nights these days."

"Really? This mouldering dump? Why is that my friend?"

Goyle shot him wicked smile that looked completely out of place on his usually slack face. "You'll see."

"Hmph. I do hate being out of the loop on these things."

"I know, that's what makes you so fun to tease."

Suddenly, Draco felt a tingling sensation, starting from his fingertips. "Finally! I think this bloody potion is wearing off."

As his form slowly returned to its natural state, he contemplated how truly superior his body was. _Ahhh, I am a sexy bastard. Polyjuice gives me such a dirty feeling, I need a bath. A long one. Preferably with those self-scrubbing bubbles._

He quickly adjusted his clothing to his figure. Not his usual exquisite tailoring, but it would do in a pinch. While he was at it, he cast a freshening charm to rid himself of the residual stench of the bar. Primping complete, he turned to his companion. "Oi, Zabini, you finished yet?"

The newly transformed Blaise Zabini was in the middle of straightening his robes. Draco walked over gave a quick sniff, and sneered "Hmmm, better cast a Freshening charm, you stink! Did you roll around in filth before you went to that dump?"

Instead of being offended by this comment, Blaise merely raised a single eyebrow and said calmly, "Well, I did have to do some research before our meeting, and I couldn't be too conspicuous. But then, you do live to stand out, don't you Draco? Spying doesn't suit you at all."

Draco, noticeably miffed, "I can go unnoticed if I want. However, who would want to miss my entrance? I make things much more interesting."

Blaise rolled his eyes, "Yes, yes, you are a god. Now have you finished primping yet? I am freezing my arse off out here."

The two men walked through the large doors, and the majordomo quickly rushed to their side. "Lord Zabini, so good to see you again! And Lord Malfoy! It has been too long since you have graced our establishment with your presence. Can I take your cloaks?"

Blaise gave the man a small smile and said, "That would be splendid Roderick. I have to ask, is Helena going to entertain tonight?"

"Yes milord, Helena performs every Friday and Saturday night."

"Splendid! My friend here has never had the pleasure of seeing Miss Gardiner perform."

"Indeed? Well, then he is in for a treat! Can I do anything for you, anything at all?"

"My usual table and a bottle of wine shall suffice."

The man looked slightly offended at such a simple request, but took it in stride. "Of course, follow me."

The man led them from the entrance into a dark, winding hallway. The hallway looked very long, but there must have been some spell to keep the walk from becoming tiresome to the guests, as they arrived at the main lounge very quickly.

Roderick paused, then opened the door. As Draco stepped into the room, he felt that he had been transported to a far away, exotic land. The walls and ceiling were covered in a light, filmy, white material, making the room look, for all intents and purposes, like a large tent. The floors were covered with rich Persian carpets, enchanted to change their patterns the closer one looked at them. Small, low tables were dotted around the room, each with two to six young wizards chatting around them, lounging on lush, inviting pillows provided for their comfort. Lit only by strategically placed torches, and small lamps on each table, the room seemed to reek with mystery, and seemed about as far away from England as one could get.

As Roderick led them to their table, Draco leaned towards Blaise and murmured, "Well, they have certainly changed this place, haven't they? The clientele, certainly, has improved. Though I don't remember the Arabian theme being altogether popular these days, I suppose it is quite intriguing, isn't it?"

Blaise slanted a look over to Draco and said, "Well, to tell you the truth, I wasn't sure what the room would look like."

Draco was confused. "But I thought you said that you came here regularly?"

"Yes I do, but that's the beauty of this club. Every Friday, Helena sings a set of regular music, takes requests, the usual entertainer routine. But every Saturday, Miss Gardiner does a new type of extravagent performance. Muggle, wizard, it doesn't matter. And every time, the décor changes to complement the performance. It's all about the atmosphere, you see. Very clever woman, Helena is."

Intrigued, Draco said, "So she actually performs muggle music?"

Blaise gave a little self-deprecating smirk, "We purebloods are nothing if not hypocritical. The minute we win the battle against the muggle-lovers and mudbloods, their music comes into fashion. I have to admit, it is quite entertaining, and I rather like some of the more… risqué… attributes of it."

By now, Roderick had stopped at a table with a particularly good view of the stage. As he pulled out a corkscrew, a bottle of wine appeared on the table. With a flourish, Roderick presented it to the two men.

"Here is a bottle of Merlot from the Ever-Blooming Vineyards in the South of France, vintage 1935, as you requested Lord Zabini."

He opened the bottle, let Blaise smell the cork, and had him taste to see if all was to his satisfaction. Bored, Blaise gestured for the man to hurry up and fill their glasses. Ritual completed, the man took his leave.

Draco, swirling his wine around in his glass, took a deep sniff. "Ahhh, that's what I like. Hopefully this will take my mind off all of the shit happening at Court."

Blaise, jerked out of his contemplation of the stage and the strange instruments lined up by it, looked curious. "Ah, yes, your investigation of the already infamous robbery, how could I forget? Going well, is it?"

Draco leaned back into his cushy pillows and ran his hand through his hair frustrated. "There is no sign of forced entry, no sign of tampering with the wards around the vault, and the guard remembers nothing. So, no, the investigation is most definitely _not_ going well, thank you very much. His Majesty is most displeased with the situation. Thank Merlin I wasn't the one to design security on that thing." Draco gave a delicate shudder, and continued. "The strange thing is there was no way to enter that vault without a key, absolutely no way. And with His Majesty at Hogwarts, the key would be impossible to obtain. Which is why there was only one guard on duty at the vault. No point in guarding something impossible to get into, is there?"

Blaise, looking into his wineglass thoughtfully, was silent for a moment. When he looked up, his eyes had taken a dark cast. "Draco, what was in that vault?"

Draco's eyes narrowed as he glanced around the room surreptitiously. He leaned into the table, and under the cover of pouring himself more wine, spoke lowly into Blaise's ear. "Have you ever heard of the Goddess's Orb?"

Blaise looked at Draco sharply and searched his eyes carefully. Determining that Draco was telling the truth, he sat back on his pillows and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they had taken an odd shimmer, one that Draco recognized form their school days, the one they had when Blaise had cooked up a particularly sneaky plan.

Draco, understanding that now was not the best time or place to follow this line of thought, turned his attention to the stage. "This is certainly a long break isn't it? Shouldn't the performance have started up by now?"

Blaise, obviously understanding Draco's pointed topic change, smiled a little and said, "Helena Gardiner is a smart woman, she knows that a little anticipation is what really gets an audience's juices flowing. She'll be out in no time, and with all this opulence, I am sure to be highly entertained."

Draco, noting a strange look in his companion's eyes when he mentioned this Helena, said nothing.

As if their speaking her name had cast an enchantment over the room, the torches around the room sputtered and the flames suddenly died, leaving the small table lamps the only source of illumination.

The silence in the room was sudden and profound. Draco was certain that he could hear the individual beats of his heart the room was so still. Absently, he wondered if any silencing spells had been cast over the room.

_Lub-Dub. Lub-Dub. Lub-Dub._

He watched the stage for any traces of movement, and was disappointed to find none. Looking at Blaise, he found the wizard transfixed by the empty stage. Quickly glancing around the room, he found most of the wizards there in a similar state. Irritated by their obvious fixation, he lounged indolently on the pillows. _Idiots. All this for a woman. A woman performing _muggle_ music no less. _

_Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump._

As Draco watched the morons staring at the stage as if it could disappear at any time, he noticed that the steady beating that he had associated with his heart was really a drum, a drum playing slow, soft notes that could be mistaken for heartbeats. He shifted his attention back to the stage and saw that it was now shrouded with mist. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand up. _What the hell?_

The drum began to speed up the pulse. Drumming, drumming, drumming, until the beat permeated everything around him, became a part of him, owned him. Drumming until he could stand it no more, until his blood was boiling with anticipation.

Only then, did she appear.

Shrouded in mist, there was only a slight silhouette. Her hips were moving to the beat, pulsing in time to the rhythm that had taken over his consciousness. As the beat sped up, her hips and thighs swayed seductively to the music, her arms lifting above her head, her hands making graceful gestures along her body, suggesting all sorts of dark longings and deeds.

As the mist slowly dissipated, her figure was slowly revealed to his greedy eyes. The first thing that he could see clearly was a flash of leg exposed for a moment, only to be blanketed by the fog once again. He strained his vision to glimpse more pale skin, only to be floored when the fog suddenly dissipated to reveal her in all her glory.

She wasn't a large woman by any means, but she had a physical presence that filled the stage, keeping every eye fixated on her movements. Her outfit consisted of a handful of brilliant blue scarves, and silver strings of tiny bells, all strategically placed to look as if they were going to fall off at any moment. Shapely, toned legs were bared to his hungry gaze, and at the ankles were fastened those curious little bells that made a shimmering tinkling, providing a mesmerizing counterbeat to the pounding drums.

His gaze slowly traveled up her person as she swayed and pulsed. Her hips were perfect. Absolutely perfect. He had always been fond of a woman's bottom, and damn him if she didn't have the best he's every seen.

Compelled to look upwards, he was fascinated by the movements her stomach was making. He'd never seen anything like it. As her hips were pulsing, her stomach was making incredibly sensual movements. In and out, out and around. The frankly sexual dance was getting to him. He could feel his erection start to rise and pulse in time to the rhythm of her body.

Her breasts were heaving, no doubt from the exertion of the dance. While not as large as some he'd seen, they seemed to fit her small frame better. As he watched, he noticed that they were glistening in the dim light from sweat. Fascinated, he watched a bead of moisture travel from the hollow of her throat, down the slope of her breasts, and into that tiny blue top.

His mouth started to water.

As if he were under a spell, his eyes compulsively traveled up the slender column of her throat to her face. He was mildly disappointed that her face was covered by a short veil, obscuring her features. From the little he could make out, her face was built of bolder, more exotic building blocks than what he was used to. Not a delicate, simpering rose, but a wild orchid, heady and unusual. He could barely see the outline of a full mouth, and see high cheekbones above a haughty nose. He was briefly disappointed that her wavy hair was blonde, as he usually preferred brunettes, but as he hadn't seen anyone who captured his attention this way since… well, since Hogwarts, he could make a few exceptions.

As he stared hard, trying to catch her eye colour, he was mesmerized by how gracefully she moved, how sensual her body was. He was contemplating how much better she would look under him, naked on the dark silk sheets of his bed when he caught her eyes.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. _

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't think.

Shock clenched his gut, quickly replaced by feral triumph.

_Hermione Granger was here._

* * *

A/N: You probably saw that one coming! Anyhow, I am writing this story because I am so sick of reading D/Hr fics where Voldie wins, and then Hermione becomes a prostitute. Personally, I think she is smarter than that. She is so methodical; I think she would have a backup plan in the eventuality Harry might lose._ I_ certainly would! But, alas, there are no stories out there like that (and believe me I have read a lot!) So I decided to write one! If you have any suggestions as to what kind of acts Hermione could perform, I am open! (I have a few in mind, but nothing definite) Read and Review!!

A/N2: Thanks to my reviewers: Umbridgeinlove, Blackat and Goddess-Hope. Thanks for your support!


	3. Chapter Three

**Vengeance**

**Chapter Three**

**By: Vashka**

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Disclaimer: These characters still belong to J.K. Rowling! The song "I Just Wanna Make Love to You" is performed by the amazing Etta James (download it now!), and I admit one of the scenes here was inspired by a scene from the movie _True Lies _(eek, what have I done?) **

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"Eroticism is like a dance: one always leads the other."

-Milan Kundera

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'Helena' left the stage to a thunderous ovation, and came back on stage for two curtain calls. Holding flowers given to her from an admirer, she smiled and waved. No one but Draco seemed to notice that the smile never quite reached her eyes.

Still in a state of semi-shock, Draco was silent and withdrawn, thinking about all the time wasted, all the effort wasted, when Granger was here all along. _But who would have thought the prudish, bushy-haired, mini-McGonagall could actually be sexy?_

A persistent nagging memory tried to surface in the wake of these thoughts, but Draco ruthlessly squashed it.

"…Mate? Draco? Oi!"

Draco, coming out of his dazed stupor, finally noticed Blaise speaking to him.

"I have been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes. What's on your mind?" Blaise slanted him a sly glance, "Or perhaps I should say _who's_ on your mind?"

Draco gave Blaise a self-deprecating smirk, "Now Zabini, although… Miss Gardiner… is quite an intriguing specimen; she certainly wouldn't preoccupy me to such a degree. Women just don't seem to have that effect on me. I can love them one minute, and forget them the next, you know that." Draco nonchalantly leaned back in his seat, "Although I would love to hear more about this woman. Why isn't someone of her caliber married yet?"

Blaise poured himself another glass of wine, and swirled it around a little before answering. "I suppose it is because she is a half-blood. Rumor has it that her mother was a famous muggle entertainer in Romania, and her father fell head over heels in love with her. So, due to her unfortunate heritage, no upscale family will have her. She is supposedly decent with a wand, but nothing special. Her real talents lie on the stage there."

Draco laid his head on his arms, and attempted to look casual, but the effect was ruined by the razor-sharp attention of his eyes. "Does she have any… protectors?"

Blaise, not fooled by Draco's forced casualness, replied in kind. "None that I know of, past or present. I suppose there must have been someone who got her into the business, but it may have been her father or some such thing."

"And is she actively looking for one?"

"She is always exquisitely charming in person, but never gives off any signals in that direction, much to the British male population's everlasting regret."

Draco's eyes narrowed, "Yours too?"

Blaise looked at Draco carefully. After a moment he replied, "I suppose so, but she doesn't interest me _that_ much."

"Good. See that it stays that way."

* * *

Draco stalked down the corridors that led to the backstage dressing rooms of the entertainers. He had asked Roderick for directions, and the majordomo had been most gracious.

He grimaced at the effort it took to get rid of Blaise. It seemed that after the performance, Blaise wanted to talk more about the serious business of theft and intrigue, but Draco simply could not keep his attention focused on the task at hand. Blaise might have been reciting Seventh Year Transfiguration textbook for all he knew.

Finally, Blaise, sensing that something was amiss, decided to adjourn their meeting. They arranged to meet the next day at Malfoy Manor to discuss their options.

Contrary to Blaise's appraisal, Draco was positively giddy. In fact, he couldn't remember when he had _ever_ felt this excited. Letting his mind wander, he had to resist the urge to laugh manically.

He was going to catch his prey.

At last, she was going to be his.

* * *

**-Flashback- Five years ago, Hogwarts-**

"Granger better be ready for this bloody meeting, or there will be hell to pay."

Draco Malfoy, Head Boy and Slytherin extraordinaire, was marching through the castle to the Head Girl's quarters, inconveniently stationed a brisk ten minute walk away from his own comfortable dorm. As the head students, they were required to meet once a week to take care of the weekly duties they were responsible for- prefect schedules, study groups and the occasional Hogsmeade weekend, etcetera.

Draco hated it.

Not that he hated the planning, mind you, as he was nutters about power and all its trappings, bureaucratic details be damned. It was Granger he couldn't take.

Their weekly meetings were epic power struggles, each trying to one-up the other and seize control. He didn't know what Dumbledore was thinking when he assigned the Heads for the year, but he must have been absolutely insane to think they would work well together. Hell, he must have been crazy to think they could be in the same room together without either one of them spontaneously combusting from pent-up rage.

So far no major disasters had ensued, but he wouldn't put it past Granger to transfigure him into a ferret again one of these days. Last week, while quarrelling over the merits of Beef Wellington over Chicken Cordón Bleu for the Governor's Lunch Buffet, he came dangerously close to hexing that haughty bint into oblivion. Or at least giving her a very bad case of hives. _Heh. Would serve her right._

The meetings always took place in the sitting room of the Head suite, and they alternated the week when the other would have to take the laborious walk through the castle. As it was Draco's turn to walk the 'trail of tears,' he contemplated grumpily that their 'conversations' would less resemble a battle in full fever if it was less of a bother to actually _get_ to the other's room.

He reached the portrait of a knight and his lady in a sunny meadow. Today, the knight was sitting with his head in the lady's lap, and she was stroking his hair fondly. Totally absorbed in what she was doing, she was not paying attention to anything else, especially Draco.

"Ahem."

The lady had moved onto kissing the knight's forehead, and he was grinning most stupidly. Both completely ignored Draco standing impatiently at the entrance.

Not exactly the patient sort of fellow, Draco disturbed the tranquil scene. "A-_hem._ Is Granger in? We have a meeting."

Startled, the lady looked up. "Oh yea, good Sir. The lady hath arrived but a few moments before yourself. Pray, what is the password?"

"Mnesomai."

"Password accepted. You may enter." As the portrait swung open, the two lovers resumed their addled absorption with each other.

"Lovesick twits." Draco muttered under his breath as he stepped into Granger's sitting room. As much as he disliked Granger personally, he had no qualms with the girl's sense of style, as much as it irked him to admit. Thankfully, the room was not done in the garish gold and crimson of Gryffindor, but in soft matte shades of beige and cream with accents of dark green. The tall windows at the end of the room let in sufficient light, and with the tasteful, elegant furniture, the room was almost up to Malfoy standards.

He settled himself in his usual chair by the fireplace, and immediately Granger's huge monstrosity of a cat jumped on his lap and settled in. As he idly stroked the orange fur, he noticed that there was no tea service waiting. This was highly out of character for Granger, as she was usually perfectly proper in keeping the charade of their 'working relationship.' He briefly considered ordering it himself, but decided against it. It would be much more entertaining to watch Granger squirm when she emerged from her room and realized that she had forgotten their meeting.

As the minutes ticked past, he started to grow restless, and glared at the door, _willing_ Granger to come out so he could berate her for this waste of time.

Finally, running out of what little patience he owned, he sat up, dislodging an angry Crookshanks, and stomped towards the door. _Haughty bitch. Making me wait. Me! The heir to the Malfoy fortune_. _My father will hear of this!_ As he reached the door, he simultaneously reached up his sleeve for his wand with one hand, and eased the door open with the other.

He was hit with a blast of sound.

That was all he could describe it as, sound. He supposed it was just very loud music, but it was unlike any sort of music _he_ had ever heard. As he blinked a few times and his ears adjusted to the decibel level, so he could make out a woman's voice singing.

… _I want you to be true  
And I just wanna make love to you_

___love to you  
ooh-ooh  
love to you_

The woman's voice was more throaty and raw than any he had ever heard before, and when he understood the lyrics, a telltale flush started to spread over his pale cheeks. The song was more suggestive, musically and lyrically, than any he had ever heard before. Father was right! If muggles have music about women begging for sex, they really must be sicker than I thought.

He was about to sneer at Granger about the crassness of the song when he saw her.

And his wand fell out of his numb fingers.

There were no candles lit, the only light coming from the fire burning in the fireplace. There were strange shadows around the room that seemed to throb in time with the strange music. And there Granger was leaning against the bedpost of her large bed, with her eyes tightly closed, swaying lightly in time to the music.

Half of her form was in shadow, half bathed in golden light, streaking her wild brown curls with red. Her shoes had been kicked off, her tie was hanging around her neck, and her robe was draped on a chair that flanked the bed.

Hermione Granger was clad only in her school uniform. And Hermione Granger was leaning back against the bedpost, slowly unbuttoning her blouse, one button after one torturous button.

_____All I want to do is wash your clothes  
I don't want to keep you indoors  
There is nothing for you to do  
But keep me making love to you_

_______love to you  
ooh-ooh  
love to you  
_

Still with her eyes shut, she finished unbuttoning her shirt, and moved away from the bedpost, with her back facing Draco. Slender fingers played with the tie at her neck, then delicately took it between two fingers and threw it over her shoulder towards him. With Seeker's reflexes, he caught the treasure, and quickly pocketed it. Then, hips swaying, she ran her hands up and down her torso, and slowly removed her shirt, exposing her golden flesh of her back, the slimness of her waist, to Draco's ravenous gaze.

Her hands then traveled down to her hips, and with one smooth, practiced motion, she had it unzipped and down to her ankles. She kicked it across the room, baring the round curves of her bottom, covered only in a pair of tiny white lace knickers.

Clad only in her kneesocks, white lace bra, and panties, she turned around. Draco's eyes quickly flashed to her face to see if her eyes were open, and was giddy with delight when he saw they were still tightly closed. He was suddenly struck by the beauty of her face when in the throes of passion, and not pinched in anger. He leaned back against the doorframe weakly, as he took in her body, hardly daring to blink for fear this illusion would disappear. His breath came in short, tight pants, and he clenched his hands tightly into fists to resist the urge to touch himself._______  
_

_______And I can tell by the way  
That you walk that walk  
I can hear by the way  
You talk that talk  
And I can know by the way  
You treat your girl  
That I could give you all the loving  
In the whole wide world_

Her hands were her phantom lover's hands on her skin as she movedUp over the curve of her breasts to her neck, then fluttering lower to skim down her flat stomach to the juncture of her thighs. Lingering there momentarily, lovingly, she then caressed her hips as they gyrated to the beat. Her hands crept up to her ribcage, and while her legs were swaying, her fingers deftly plucked the clasp in between her breasts open.

She slowly drew off her bra to expose her breasts. Draco felt his erection harden to a painful degree as he looked at her small, perfect bosom. Involuntarily, his hand reached out to grasp the firm mounds, but he remembered himself in time and quickly snatched his hand away as if burned.

As the woman's voice wailed, Hermione slowly reached out and grabbed the post of her bed. She gyrated and swung around the post in time to the music, her body arching to the rhythm. Draco almost came as her shapely leg curled around the post and then bent her body backwards, giving him an exquisite view of her breasts and stomach.

_________All I want to do is bake your bread  
Just to make sure you're well fed  
I don't want you sad and blue  
And I just wanna make love to you_

Hermione put her hands back onpost and swung around, over the mattress, to end up on both feet, with her torso swaying seductively, slowly scooting downwards, wiggling her bottom all the way. Draco's eyes were glued to her arse, and his hands actually _itched_ to feel it in his palms.

Hermione slowly came back up, leaned backwards on the post, and languidly opened her eyes.

Her slitted eyes met Draco's, and for a few heartbeats, he could see lust shimmering in their depths.

He could see the exact moment the realization hit. Her eyes lost the look of lazy sensuality and widened in surprise. Her body froze as they stared at each other, the moment stretching longer and longer, forgotten music playing in the background.

___________love to you  
ooh-ooh  
love to you_

Surprisingly, it was Draco who broke the spell. He moved fluidly from his prone position against the wall towards Hermione, making no effort to hide his raging erection. Gently, as if charming a wild creature, he reached out to caress her cheek with his fingers.

She closed her eyes, and leaned into his touch. His thumb roamed from her cheek to brush her mouth, once, twice. He licked his lips, and moved closer and closer…

Hermione's eyes flew open, and she simultaneously knocked Draco's arm away, and stepped backwards, trying to covering her breasts with her hands.

"No! No, I cannot, I _will_ not do this! Leave!"

Draco stood frozen for a millisecond, and then a monumental rage exploded deep inside him. _How _dare_ she? How dare she reject _him_? A Malfoy!_

"…Please…"

He was about to lay into her, but he noticed that she was trembling, her eyes dilated, skin still flushed, tears standing in her eyes. She is affected by me. She wants me, but is too ashamed to admit it. Fine then, if that's how you want to play Granger, I can play with the best of them.

"I will come back tomorrow for our meeting."

___________Oh yes, Granger this is not over._

___________ooh-ooh  
love to you  
_

* * *

_________**-**_**Present Day-**

He never did get to finish what they started that night. The final battle had taken place a few days after that meeting, and except for a brief unsatisfactory encounter right before the battle, the matter was left unresolved. _Unfinished business. Yes, that's all it is. That's all I want from her._

Just thinking about the one time he had seen Granger without her know-it-all façade made him hard. She could be incredibly sexy when she just kept her fat mouth shut. Take tonight for instance. If she had shown off that body a little more, and stopped acting like a walking, talking book, she might have gotten more attention at Hogwarts. Well, except from those who mattered in this world. She was still a mudblood. But it would have been more entertaining to watch those breasts heave while she was giving one of her inevitable lectures than looking at Potty and the Weasel.

What puzzled him was the obvious fact that Granger could have taken care of her appearance at any time. She obviously knew spells to fix that horrible frizziness, and as tonight demonstrated, she seemed to know how to put on makeup to show off her features. He vaguely recalled the Yule Ball during Fourth Year, and how she had transformed herself. When cleaned up she was stunning.

Why the hell would anyone _want_ to be ugly?

Contemplating that sacrilegious thought, Draco strolled through the backstage corridors, looking for her rooms. When he finally found the door, he had to wipe the palms of his hands on pants, he was so edgy. As he reached out his fist to knock, he had a startling epiphany: she made him feel alive for the first time in five years, for the first time since Hogwarts. For the first time since the war.

And it wasn't entirely unwelcome.

* * *

Granger was seated sedately in her dressing room, brushing that horrid blonde hair, looking for the entire world like a pampered, pureblood princess. Except for her eyes. Her eyes were hard chips of black ice, ruining an otherwise perfectly done disguise. He lounged against the doorframe and wondered how many she had been able to fool, and for how long. Must have been hundreds, he mused, to build up such a formidable reputation as an entertainer in only five short years.

He could pinpoint the exact moment that she spotted him. Watching her face so closely he barely seemed to blink, his body was coiled and hard, ready to strike at his prey. She put down her brush, and reached for a bottle of lotion, when she saw his reflection in the mirror. Their eyes caught, and he felt like he was suffocating. Her eyes widened marginally, and all at once, as if prompted by a tidal wave of feeling, the ice in her eyes melted.

They burned.

Suddenly, as if remembering where she was, and whom she was with, she jerked herself out of the staring contest. She opened the bottle and began to vigorously massage the lotion onto her hands, releasing the heady smell of jasmine into the air.

"Lord Malfoy, this is an unexpected… pleasure. How may I possibly be of service to you?"

Oh, she was good. Enough graciousness not to be offensive, but the subtle insult smacked him in the face. If he wasn't aware of her identity, he might have missed it. _So that's how she wants to play, eh? I could have a lot of fun_________

"Miss Gardiner that was a lovely performance. I wasn't aware that anyone with your… talents… was in town." Perfect. There was nothing offensive to that statement except the sneering tone.

Her eyes snapped to his, and he could see that indomitable will of hers override her instinctive need to shoot back a scathing retort. He smirked. _Revenge at last. I have waited forever for this._

Just as he was about to deal the deathblow to her cover, there was a knock at the door. Granger, or "Helena" as he supposed he should call her, automatically set her face in a pleasant expression, then gracefully rose and answered the door.

From his vantage, he saw that the intruder was a young woman- pretty, but nothing special. Dressed in a short robe like Granger, he assumed she was one of the fellow performers.

_________"_Helena, where do you want the giant feather fans? The stage crew has them crammed in Locker B. I tried telling them they were too delicate, but they insisted that the strengthening charms on them were strong enough to hold…"

As the girl babbled on, Draco tuned out most of her complaint._________Know-it-all Granger to the rescue again. Oh, oh, let me do it! Let me take charge! …Feather fans? Giant ones? Damn. Wonder what they are used for?_

Lost in his lustful musings, Draco missed what Granger was saying to him. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he asked her to repeat herself.

"Lord Malfoy," she said with still formality, "I need to take care of some equipment issues, but I will be back. Please make yourself comfortable."

Draco smirked, "Oh, I will."

He was rewarded by her nostrils flaring as she exited the dressing room with painful dignity.

With no Granger to distract him, Draco was finally able to take in his surroundings. Done in sedate blues and purples, the room looked like something out a showroom, with none of the personal touches that make a room seem lived in. Tasteful, uninteresting pictures of flowers, a cushy sofa, a small bar with mirrors- nothing about the room seemed to say anything about the occupant. Except for its extraordinary neatness.

After a show, which he assumed had many costume changes, Draco would expect the room to be a bit of a mess. But there was no evidence that there was any activity in this room at all, let alone frenzied changing.

Bored, Draco drifted over to her dressing table,and glanced at the beauty products lined up neatly on the counter. For a moment, he was baffled as to their organization, as the hair spray was far away from the Sleekeasy's potion, and the eyeliner was definitely not near the mascara.

Staring at the products, his eyes widened, and he suddenly burst out laughing.

Granger had___________alphabetized_ her beauty products.

Still chuckling, he sent a sly glance at the door, and quickly switched around some of the bottles.

Satisfied, he sat down on the couch to await her arrival. Flipping through a stack of untouched _Witch Weekly's_, he was satisfied when she stepped in after only a few minutes. She looked around the room, as if his presence would have somehow caused untold destruction on the perfection of her personal space. Apparently satisfied that no harm had taken place, she delicately sat at her dressing table, facing him.

Tired of her composure, Draco went right for the kill.

He leaned forward, smoothly, casually, until he was only a few handbreadths away from his true goal. "So… Helena… how have you hidden yourself from us all these years?"

A flicker of the eyes.

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

Draco chuckled sardonically, "We looked and looked, every library, every university, wizard and muggle. Every bookshop across the globe. And here you are, a nightclub singer."

A subtle movement of her hand into the pocket of the short purple kimono.

"Lord Malfoy, if you are going to spout rubbish at me, I will have to graciously ask you to leave."

Draco suddenly stood up and caught her chin with his hand. Her eyes widened considerably, and her pupils dilated in fear. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her arm tense up.

Looking her straight in the eye, Draco snarled, "No more games. I know you have your wand trained on me right now, but you can't do anything to me without exposing this cover you have here. Roderick and numerous others know I am in here, and will know if anything happens to me. Come clean. You are Hermione Granger. Admit it._________Admit it_."

He watched her face go pale, and her breathing speed up with an almost detached fascination. His emotions were all trained on her answer; it seemed everything hinged upon her honesty.

Her eyes, spinning with fear and panic, suddenly snapped into focus with her decision.

"Get your hands off me Malfoy, or I will not be responsible for the consequences of my actions."

Draco tightened his grip on her face convulsively, and with his other hand he grabbed her upper arm, and jerked her hand out of her pocket, revealing that she was clutching a common hairclip, not a wand. Puzzled, he looked into her dark eyes.

"Portkey. I say the word, and I am in a safe location of my devising, and you never hear from me again. I will slip into a different identity, and then another, and another. You will never find me, no matter how hard you search."

Draco didn't take his hands off of her, but his confidence was slipping. He had underestimated her will. They all had. If he moved now, he could possibly capture her, but most likely not. Stalemate.

Just as he thought she was going to spit in his face and portkey away from him forever, her eyes seemed to cool, and her rage collected itself to something different, something…

"Can we talk this over like civilized people, or must we act like barbarians? Let us talk this through, and perhaps reach an agreement?"

To say that Draco was surprised by this statement was an understatement. He was so shocked that almost lost his grip on Hermione, but he composed himself enough to get his bearings.

"Come again? I don't believe I heard you correctly."

"You heard me, you insufferable prat. We need to talk."

Draco looked into her eyes to try to gage her mood, but to his embarrassment, he couldn't tell is she was going to hex him or if she was going to kiss him. Her eyes were fathomless, impossible to read. So, he settled himself back down on the sofa, got out his wand and trained it on her.

"If we are going to do this, I am asking the questions. First, how the hell did you escape the last battle?"

Hermione looked affronted and sneered, "Did you honestly think I would go into battle without preparing for the eventuality that we might lose?"

"Well, it didn't cross my mind until we tried looking for you, and you were no where to be found."

She smirked, "Well it looks like someone underestimated my intelligence. By the time you figured out that I wasn't going to stay on the battlefield and be captured like a good little girl, I was long gone. I wasn't called the smartest witch to ever come out of Hogwarts for nothing, you know. It also helped that I was declared dead to the public, so no one outside a select few were actively looking for me."

_________"_Yes, yes, you insufferable know it all." Draco couldn't resist poking fun at her, and took perverse pleasure in the tightening of her facial expression at the familiar jibe. "So why a dancer? Why not live as a librarian in some remote muggle village?"

Hermione turned from him to look at the beauty products lining her and seemed to stare through them for a few moments, taking time to compose her answer. She took a deep breath and began, still looking at the table. "When I was thinking of the alternatives I would have if Harry lost, I realized that I would be on the run from the Death Eaters forever. I don't want to keep running, I don't want to hide, and I definitely do not want to live in isolation in some cave in the middle of nowhere. I realized that the most obvious thing for me to do would be to go back to the muggle world. I am familiar with it, and most wizards are not. But even so, I couldn't be safe there, completely cut off from the heartbeat of the Wizarding world, never knowing if someone was on my tail or if they were light-years away."

Draco leaned forward, fascinated, "So you decided to become an entertainer?"

Hermione shrugged, "At Hogwarts, everyone seemed to think that I was sexless. I wanted it that way, to be taken more seriously. I was never a girl, much less an attractive young woman. So it was the perfect disguise really." She was staring at her beauty products, but didn't seem to really see them. While lost in the memories, she unconsciously began to re-arrange the beauty products that Draco had misplaced.

Draco smirked.

Coming out of her reverie, she smiled ruefully at him, "And when you room with Lavander and Parvati you could learn beauty spells without even trying- they certainly talked enough."

"Obviously, you learned well if you could pull off the transformation of the century."

"Thanks Malfoy, your compliments are so endearing. Do you talk to all women like this?"

"Only bushy-haired beavers. And you are not supposed to speak unless spoken to. Next question: why blonde?"

Hermione looked at him with an expression of comical disbelief, and suddenly burst out laughing.

Draco smirked and twirled his wand nimbly around his fingers, "It's a valid question! I'm in control here, so answer it!"

Hermione pulled a face. "Still a spoilt brat I see. Very well then. I 'went blonde' because it seemed to be the last thing anyone would expect. Besides, no one ever seems to look beyond the hair to see the rest of my face. Glamour charms are very unreliable things. Only hair seems to be stable for long periods of time, so this gives me a decent disguise with little hassle."

"It's horrid."

"Yes, I know. But such is life."

Draco leaned forward to caress Hermione's cheek and purred, "Final question: give me one good reason why I shouldn't turn you in. Beg me. I have you at my mercy, and you know it."

Hermione went absolutely still. He could see her mind working furiously, "You mean besides the fact I would escape? Ah, but you want something else, don't you? Something to lord over me, to say you got the 'great Granger.'" She looked him straight in the eye and said, "Well, here's something- you're in some trouble, are you not?"

Draco was taken aback, "Pardon?"

"Someone is setting you up for a fall. And you don't know who it is."

"And you do?"

"I could find out."

"How?"

Hermione smirked. "Easily."

"That did not answer my question." Draco felt irrational anger rise, and an impulse to hurt someone. "What other sort of _business_ do you have here, Granger?"

Hermione's eyes immediately hardened to chips of ice, and the relatively amiable mood evaporated. "Not that!" she said viciously, "I would _die_ before I would sink that low. I am no whore, Malfoy, don't you ever forget that!"

For some reason, Draco's irrational anger was mollified. He let out a long breath and said, "Find out Granger. You have one week."

* * *

A/N: In case you were wondering 'Mnesomai' means 'I will remember' in Greek (at least according to my Classics professor). Appropriate, no? Ugh. That last scene was so hard. Draco and Hermione wanted to be much friendlier than is appropriate at this point in the story. Grrr… characters with minds of their own… Hope it raised some questions in your minds though (there were some oddities you were supposed to notice - hopefully)

A/N2: Next chapter – the thief in action! Bwahahahahaha! And some Hermione perspective. (finally, Draco is taking over my story!) Ah, and to relieve some worries that I have had in reviews, not everyone else is dead! There are a few more survivors, and we will see what they are up to in a few chapters.

A/N3: Of course, thanks to all of my reviewers. It's amazing how much more inspired I am when I get feedback… Maybe someone should do a study… hmmmm… (I am such a nerd )


	4. Chapter Four

**Vengeance**

**Chapter Four**

**000**

**Disclaimer: These characters still belong to JK Rowling. The information on the Eleusinian Mysteries is from _The Homeric Hymns, _translation and introduction by Susan C. Shelmerdine. **

**000**

_Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.  
- Joseph Joubert_

**000**

The Gyr falcon soared high over the forest, catching eddies of wind on its wings. While it was odd to see falcon hunting so late on a midsummer's night, it was not unheard of. Even odder was the colouring of this particular falcon. Deep solid brown, the falcon had no other markings. However, the feathers gave the distinct impression of … fuzziness…that was strange for a falcon of mature age.

The keen dark eyes of the falcon alighted upon the edge of the forest, and soon a large sprawling castle came into view.

Letting out a screech of triumph, the large bird began to descend slowly, circling in tight spirals to reach a clearing at the edge of the forest. Ignoring the wildlife that skittered out of her way, the predator gingerly set foot on the ground.

Utterly still, the falcon seemed to freeze utterly still. Then, gradually, the air around the bird began to shimmer, move. The figure of the bird began to waver and morph into something bigger. Long graceful bare limbs replaced wicked claws and powerful wings, as the falcon assumed its proper, human shape.

The thief had arrived at Hogwarts.

Swiftly, silently, the thief patted herself down.

_Wand: check._

_Rope: check._

_Portkey: check._

_Marauder's Map: check._

Good. All was in order.

With a quietly hissed "_Silencio" _on her feet, the thief jogged at a steady pace to the castle.

Paranoid as the Dark King was becoming in his power, all safety precautions were taken to guard the castle. Guards were placed at every known castle entrance. Wards were put up, and protection spells unleashed. Dementors were called to guard the entrances to the grounds, to protect their master. Hogwarts was unassailable.

Or so they thought.

The thief had been inside the Hogwarts defenses about fifteen times in the past five years. Enough experience to be confident of her skills, not so much that she would get cocky.

The problem with securing Hogwarts was the fickle nature of the building itself. Always changing, no one knew the whereabouts of any one thing at any time. No one knew how to predict the changes. Except the thief.

The thief jogged fluidly to the base of the castle, slowing as she reached it, not even winded. She calmly walked around the castle until she reached the base of Gryffindor tower. Fondly, she stroked the smooth stone. Looking around her, she searched with her keen eyes for any trespassers on her position. Satisfied there were no prying eyes present, she counted the number of stones from the base of the tower. Reaching the seventh, she caressed it briefly, then pushed gently.

The stones quivered slightly, and then rearranged themselves to make a small door in the base of the tower. Stepping through quickly, the portal closed itself seamlessly behind her.

Brandishing her wand, the thief gave a quiet "_Lumos"_ and the area around her was filled with a gentle light. Methodically, she took out the Marauder's map from a hidden pocket in her shirt. In a whisper, she intoned, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," and tapped the parchment lightly with her wand. A full map of Hogwarts bled onto the parchment.

_Good, the passage is still blocked. Must not have realized that it's usable yet._

The thief silently stole through the passage until she got to the blockage. The corridor was covered with a pile of rock from floor to ceiling. With a lifting spell, she moved a few rocks at the top to reveal a small round hole that a tiny adult or a large child could squeeze though.

Keeping the rocks aloft with her wand, the thief scrambled over the pile to the hole, and shimmied through. Turning around, she blocked the hole again, replacing the rocks, covering all traces of the hole.

_Ugh, I think I bruised my bum going through that thing. Am I gaining weight?_

She stole through the passage and up numerous flights of stairs until she reached a blank wall. Giving the map a thorough once over, and satisfied that there was no one in the immediate area to spy her, she tapped the map with her wand and said, "Mischief managed." Making sure the silencing charms on her feet were still strong, she extinguished the light from her wand and replaced it up her sleeve.

She stood there silently, letting her eyes adjust to the strange dim light coming through the wall. Raising her hand, she touched its surface. As her finger touched, waves seemed to propagate endlessly from the touch, like a stone thrown on waters surface.

Satisfied the portal was still active; the thief stepped through the wall to find herself on the fourth floor of Hogwarts. She looked back at the mirror she had just come through to see the waves settle, giving the mirror its normal, seamless quality. Swiftly checking her appearance, she gave a satisfied smirk.

There was no reflection in the mirror.

Invisible, swift, deadly, she stalked through the corridor until she appeared at the entrance of the library. She paused for a moment, overwhelmed with memories, but she ruthlessly suppressed them.

_No time for foolish hopes. Get the job done - that is the only thing that matters now._

While there was no one in the corridor to see the strange sight of a door opening itself, (or perhaps not so strange at Hogwarts) anyone could pass by at any moment. So, she quickly opened the door a smidgen and wriggled inside.

A feeling of comfort and familiarity assailed her as she moved through the aisles. Thousands of books sat still, lonely now that the students were taken from the halls. The library was hardly ever used now that Voldemort had taken residence. Sometimes His Eminence would request a book, and some toady would come here to fetch it, but otherwise the boundless knowledge of Hogwarts lay silent and still.

The thief quickly walked to the Household section in the back of the library, and scanned the shelves for a desired volume.

_Ahhh, here it is, _Unlocking the Most Complex Locks, Magical and Otherwise by Elgar Thomason. _Voldemort's books improving my thieving technique. Ah, irony._

Quickly looking around her, she took her wand out of her sleeve and performed a shrinking spell. Placing the tiny book in a secure pocket inside her shirt, she strode to the Ancient History section. Finding the book she wanted, she pocketed it in the same manner as the other.

_Mission One: Accomplished. On to Mission Two._

Before she could get out the Marauder's Map to see if the corridors were occupied, the sounds of two voices drifted through the quiet library. Stiffening, heart beating fast, she stood very still. Determining that the voices were near the Restricted Section, she stealthily crept closer and closer until she could make out their words.

"… told you, no one ever comes here anymore." Said a strong, hissy voice.

"But what if…"

This whiny voice was ruthlessly interrupted by the first, "No what ifs! We have to talk _now_. Malfoy is gaining too much influence in society. It has to be stopped."

The thief sat back on her heels, surprised that she would be overhearing such pertinent information. _Well. This certainly makes my job easier_, she thought wryly. That whiny voice could only belong to one person: Wormtail. A rise of fierce hatred rose within her breast, but her mind cruelly suppressed it, blocking all strong emotion, blocking all stray thoughts, lest the other prove to be a Legilimens.

The weak voice, Wormtail, spoke again. "Well then, Nott, this had better not be some petty schoolyard squabble. To accuse one of the High Lord's most valuable vassals is not a trivial thing."

_That settles who the second is then. _Satisfied, the thief sat back to listen and remember the rest of the conversation.

"It has already been set in motion you know that, you spineless fool. All you fear now is his vengeance." The strong voice, a.k.a. Theodore Nott, spoke in a voice dripping with derision, "You want to get rid of him as much as I. You know that if he finds out you killed his father, he will rip you apart."

The thief was stunned. _Indeed? Well_, _that explains quite a lot._

"Please! Please, Lord Nott. I beg you not to tell him. I will do as you ask. I will tell his Dark Highness all you wish."

"Very good Pettigrew. See that you do."

With those words, the thief heard two sets of footsteps retreating in the direction of the library doors. Padding in their wake silently, she catalogued all that she had heard in the back of her mind for future thought.

_I cannot get distracted now._

Exiting the library before the large doors slid totally shut from Nott and Wormtail. She watched them walk along the corridor to the stairwell. Seeing them go downstairs, she presumed they were going to the throne room (formerly the Great Hall) to fill Voldemort's ears with poison against Malfoy.

For a brief moment, she felt a twinge of pity for him. However, she quickly reminded herself of all the things he had done to deserve this fate.

_The ferret deserves it. Really. Still, it is a shame he doesn't know the truth about his father…_

Quickly shaking such thoughts from her mind, she went to the same staircase Pettigrew and Nott just descended, but instead went up to the fifth floor.

Passing an array of sorrowful paintings, she arrived at an innocuous looking room in a little used, dusty corridor.

After Voldemort's ascension, all of the varied Ministry records were taken to Hogwarts for security reasons. Consequently, Voldemort himself could keep a stranglehold on information he considered private.

Unfortunately for him, his security wasn't as foolproof as he boasted.

Fortunately for the thief, the wards on the Record Room were some that she had seen before. Recognizable by the small shimmer around the doorframe, the wards would painfully decapitate any who set foot inside without reciting the counterspell. Formerly illegal, borderline dark magic, but hardly unbreakable.

_Ah, his cockiness always works to my advantage._

Taking out her wand, the thief patiently said the complex chant that would free the wards. Opening the door, she was careful to scan the room with a spell for additional wardings.

_Lets see, a screaming spell on the floor and a basic locking spell on the file cabinets. Tsk, tsk, sloppy job. You would think that with a thief around they would have at least added some extra security. This is almost an insult._

With an invisible smirk, she looked upwards to the ceiling. Casting a quick spell, she nodded in satisfaction.

_Unimaginative fools. Didn't even think to ward the ceiling. _

Taking out her rope, she cast a sticking spell on one end. Tucking her wand into her sleeve, she expertly swung the rope around in circles with one hand, holding onto the slack with the other. Then, rather like an American Cowboy, when the rope had gained enough momentum she let it fly.

It stuck to the ceiling. Perfect.

Using a shrinking spell to shorten the rope so that it would not touch the floor, she let it hang. Turning her attention to her hands, she uttered an interesting, obscure spell. From her hands, under her gloves, thousands of tiny, wickedly curved claws sprouted. She uttered the same spell on her forearms, feet, and shins.

Tucking her wand into her sleeve, she took a few deep, calming breaths.

_Here goes nothing._

Taking extreme care not to touch the floor, she closed the door, while quickly mounting the rope. She then carefully climbed the rope until she reached the ceiling. Steadying herself, she reached out with the palm of her hand and touched the roof.

It stuck.

More confidently, she placed her other hand next to its mate, and with care, swung her legs towards the ceiling, until she was completely upside down.

Taking quiet steady breaths, she tried to orient herself.

_All right. Records of Magical Objects – over on the right._

Carefully moving her limbs, she painstakingly made her way across the ceiling. Sweating profusely underneath the invisibility suit, her muscles started to tremble with the exertion.

_Gods, Spiderman always made this look so easy. _

Just as she was starting to feel dizzy from all the blood rushing to her head, she arrived at the file cabinets. _All right, S… Where is S…_

Finding the correct cabinet, she took her legs off the ceiling, and using her arm muscles to control their descent, managed to make very little noise when her feet touched the top of the cabinet. Stretching the sore muscle in her arms, she stood still while the blood rushed from her head to its proper places.

Taking out her wand, she murmured a quick "_Finite Incantatem_" on her arms and legs, and opened the file cabinet underneath her.

Opening the drawer while sitting on top, she pondered how strange it must look. Drawers opening themselves, files floating in midair, etc. _Thank goodness there are no muggle recording devices here. _That_ would make life interesting._

Finding the folder on the Magical Item she desired, she found it was distressingly slender. Opening it, she found only one sheet of parchment, with a brief entry. Scanning it, she had to bite down on her tongue to keep from swearing aloud. Tasting blood, she cursed her fate.

_Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit! Damn it all to Hades, why did it have to be _there_? Why does it have to be _him

Taking great care to replace the folder and the locking charms, she prepared herself to make the journey across the ceiling once more and restore the wards on the room. Then she would portkey the hell out of here to think very hard about what she had learned tonight.

Why did the fates make _her_ life their favourite plaything?

_**Item**: Staff of the Priest  
**Description:** White staff, 1.5 meters, intricate carving, snake tip  
**Use:** Unknown  
**Age:** Unknown (Suspected Ancient)  
**Maker:** Unknown  
**General Comments:** Unknown function, but believed to be highly dangerous. When in contact with certain individuals, green flame spouted from it. No permanent damage. Could not flame at will by handler. Only two people known to be able to handle it without detrimental effects.  
**Location:** Malfoy Manor, Private Collection_

**000**

The study at Malfoy Manor, like all things associated with the Malfoy name, reeked with elegance and class. Overall, the room gave the impression of age. Timelessness. Generations of Malfoys had ruled here, and many more generations would rule from this very room in the future.

The room was decorated with a firm masculine hand, without being overly elaborate. No heads of dead hippogriffs here. No, those were for guest houses and gaming rooms. The study was the refuge of the Head of the Malfoy Family. The Throne Room of an uncrowned king.

Intimidating. Imposing. _Slytherin._

Dark wooden paneling gave the room a dark, gothic atmosphere, even though tall curved windows with long blood-coloured draped lined one wall. Another wall held a large fireplace with an ornately carved mantel depicted battles long forgotten, ancient wizards dueling for causes unknown. A large painting of a white-blond knight riding a huge black warhorse sneered down at the occupants of the room.

Lining the other wall were glass cases filled with an eclectic assortment of antiques, collected by various Malfoys over the generations. A large steel sword encrusted with emeralds hung prominently in one case, gleaming wickedly. Another case was packed with various wands, hundreds of them, of varying lengths and composition. Yet another was filled to the brim with a strange assortment of mismatched objects including: a bronze chalice, a small red pillbox, a porcelain shepherdess, and an odd pure-white staff about a meter and a half in length carved with intertwining oak leaves, with a carved tip depicting a snake biting its own tail. Other cases were heaving with statues, pendants, keys, crowns, and all other sorts of trinkets.

Not all the items had a known function. But they all were very, very magical.

Sitting at a desk in front of the cabinets, one Draco Malfoy was trying to make sense of some very old, very incomplete documents.

Frustrated with his lack of success in catching the thief, Draco had decided to do some research on the stolen object. The only information he had was from his brief interview with the King, and His Majesty had been surprisingly close-lipped. Or perhaps not so surprising considering the whispered accusations. All Draco had gotten out of Voldemort was the object's name, the approximate time it had been in the vault, and the fact that it was extremely dangerous for the entire magical community. If His Majesty knew anything else, he wasn't spilling. This aroused Draco's avid curiosity, so naturally he decided do some private research. To get into the mind of a thief, you had to see what was worth stealing, right?

Right.

_Let's see, Goddess's Orb… Goddess's Orb… Gah! Why is this thing so damn obscure? _

Unfortunately for Draco, his project was not going very well. In all of the texts in the extensive Malfoy library listing various magical objects, he could find only vague references to the orb, usually only to the fact that it existed at some time or place. Referred to by various names, he could barely decipher if the orbs these texts were talking about were one and the same. _Orb of Demeter, Orb of Gaea, Orb of Isis, Orb of Freya, Orb of Persephone, Orb of Danu ... Stupid bloody Orb of Pain-in-my-Arse, that's what it is!_

Most of the names happened to be Greek, so he decided that books on Ancient Greek Artifacts would probably be a good place to start branching out. With stacks of books precariously perched around him on the desk, he absently flipped through the crumbling pages of one particularly ancient tome.

Sipping a strong cup of coffee to help him stay awake through this tedious work, his mind kept drifting to the woman he had accidentally found the previous night. Her red, red mouth, her haughty little nose, her heaving breasts glistening with sweat as she danced… Oh, yes, he was distracted. Thoughts of how her pale skin would look against the sheets of his bed frolicked through his head, so much so he almost missed a vague reference to the very thing he was looking for.

…_Orb of Demeter, rumoured to be used in the Eleusinian Mysteries…_

Draco nearly spit out his coffee he was so surprised. He had been researching for days, and had uncovered nothing except for the various names of the damned thing. _All right! At least I have something more to work with than a bloody bunch of useless titles._

Rifling through the stacks of books on his desk for a moment, he found nothing satisfactory. So, he took one last sip of his coffee and stood up.

Gliding through the room to the door, he let himself out, and walked down the eerily lit corridor to the library. The library, along with the massive collection of Rare Magical Artifacts, was a source of Malfoy Pride. (Not that they were lacking things to be proud of, obviously) The number of books was rumoured to be in the thousands, and in all of Britain, only Hogwarts's library was said to be more extensive. Huge shelves stretched to the heavens, with books ranging from the most modern paperbacks to the rarest of ancient Egyptian papyrus scrolls.

As Draco briskly stepped into the room, the fire in the hearth and the floating, heatless candles automatically lit themselves. Strolling to a large desk in the middle of the room, he flipped open the huge, dusty book lying there. Taking a quill and inkpot out of one of the drawers, he wrote quickly in his fluid, slanted hand.

_Eleusinian Mysteries, explanation of. Objects connected to._

At once, the ink faded into the page, the book sucking it up greedily. A few moments passed, and then the tome's pages shimmered. Words began to materialize on the page.

_Eleusinian Mysteries: 3 Books Found_

_1.) Mysterious Mysteries by Algar Tuffle_

_2.) Rites of the Ancients by Nestor Sniffles_

_3.) Greek for the Average Wizard by Herbert Hedwink_

Draco sneered a bit half-heartedly. _Three books? Just three? Damn, I was hoping for more information than this. _Sighing, he _Accioed_ the three books from their respective shelves, and returned to his study to see if they were worth his time.

He indifferently placed two of the books on top of an already precarious tower of books, opening the third and largest – Hedwink's _Greek for the Average Wizard. _

Flipping to the index, he found one mention of the Eleusinian Mysteries on page 562.

…_The Eleusinian Mysteries were conducted in the city of Eleusis, near Athens. These were rites sacred to the Goddess Demeter, celebrated by both wizards and muggles. _

Draco made a pinched face. "That's it? Bah, what a waste of time. The next bloody book had better be more enlightening." Skimming through _Mysterious Mysteries_ he found a bit more information.

…_The Cult of Demeter had a sacred festival once a year to bless the initiated, and to purify magic. As it also honoured Demeter's daughter, Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, the ceremony was also intimately connected to the afterlife. Unfortunately, none of the members could speak of the actual events of the ceremony under penalty of death, so little else is known._

"Damn!" Draco ground out between clenched teeth, "Penalty of death? Great, that makes my job so much easier." Turning to the last book, he hoped that he had not hit another dead end.

…_Obviously, since no member could speak of the Eleusinian Mysteries, most of the rite is shrouded in secrecy. However, Pelias the One-Eyed, a citizen of Athens, became spectacularly drunk one night and detailed a rough outline of the Rite. (For further details, see the companion volume to this book – _The Eleusinian Mysteries Revealed) _Unfortunately, before he could tell of the rite's conclusion, he was towed away by a few strange men and never seen again…_

Draco was much more pleased by this information, but was quite annoyed that the author felt the need to put the information he needed in another volume. It just wasn't convenient for _him._ Obviously, since the book did not show up on his original search, the Malfoy Library must not have it. How vexing. He would have to make a special trip to Hogwarts the next day to find it. Yet there was that tiny problem of a paranoid King housed in that same building…

As Draco leaned back in his chair to scheme a good way to infiltrate Hogwarts- letting Voldemort know he was there, but not giving away all of his motives- Blaise Zabini casually strolled through the door.

Draco almost fell out of his chair. Quickly sitting up straight, he tried not to look too surprised. However, it was hard to conceal. After Hogwarts and Gringotts, this was one of the most magically fortified buildings in the world. How the hell did Zabini get in here?

"Zabini! What a… pleasant surprise. I was expecting you around suppertime."

"I was bored. Besides, annoying my mother isn't nearly as entertaining as annoying you. And when your mother flooed to confirm my presence this evening, I asked her to unlock my fireplace."

_Ah. Well, that explains how Blaise got here, anyway_. Draco suppressed a niggling remnant of suspicion. Blaise was one of the few that could be trusted, right?

Shaking his head briefly, he put on a smile and gestured for Blaise to sit in one of the comfortable chairs by the fire. "Please, sit. I'll order us an afternoon tea and we can… play a game of chess."

Draco stared into Blaise's eyes for a long moment, and then flicked his eyes to the walls. _You never know when the walls have ears. _Blaise smirked roguishly and gave an irreverent salute. "Aye, aye, Captain. Haven't played chess in years, not even sure if I remember the rules… We'll have to talk them through."

Satisfied that Blaise understood the delicacy of the situation, he walked to the door and pulled a little golden rope. Immediately, a house elf popped into view.

"Slippy, bring up a tea service for Lord Zabini and I. Be quick about it!"

Slippy barely squeaked a "Yes, Master," before she disappeared from view.

Blaise looked on in appreciation. "I wish my house elves were so well trained. Mine always dally too much when given orders."

Draco sank down in the large chair facing Blaise, relishing the feel of softness on his stiff neck. _Reading too many books. Going to turn out like Granger. Hmmm… Not an entirely revolting thought. _Images of Granger's red lips and dark burning eyes invaded his thoughts once again. _I wonder if her arse is as nice as it was in Hogwarts…_

Draco was shaken from his thoughts by an insistent clearing of a throat. Blaise looked supremely amused, and Draco wondered how long he had been daydreaming.

Clearing his throat, he finallyresponded to Blaise, "Slippy was my father's personal Elf for many years, and as such she was exquisitely trained. When he passed during the last battle, Slippy took it upon herself to be in my service."

Noticing Draco's pensive expression, Blaise gently reminded him, "You did capture McGonagall. She was supposedly his murderer. Justice, and all that."

Turning to the fire, Draco stared into it intently, as if he could see all the answers to his problems. "Yes," he said quietly, "I know. But somehow, I feel that he does not rest in peace. And I don't know why."

As Draco contemplated the flickering flames, Slippy appeared, breaking the strange tension. Almost bent over backwards from the weight of the large silver tray, she nevertheless placed it on the small table between the two men without spilling anything. "Will Master Draco be needing anything else?"

With Draco's negative, the house elf popped out of sight, leaving the two men alone. As the host, Draco poured both cups performing the ritual with a practiced grace. Two sugars for him, a little milk for Blaise.

Meanwhile, chomping on a mango-filled biscuit, Blaise dragged the Wizard's Chess set over from its usual resting place near the windows. "So," Blaise said while setting up the board, "I see from the miserable state of your desk that you have been busy. Very busy. I have to ask; don't you have anything better to do on a Sunday than _work_? Quidditch perhaps? Shopping?" He paused for a moment and then slyly smirked, "Helena Gardiner?"

Draco was so startled by this comment, he choked on his tea, and some spilled onto his immaculate robes. Giving Blaise a death glare, he quickly took his wand out of his sleeve and gave his robes a through _Scourgify_. "Now I will have to get these robes thoroughly scrubbed instead of the usual milder treatment." Draco gave Blaise a quelling look when he started to snicker. Blaise put a hand over his mouth and politely started to cough. "_Scourgify_ just isn't good with certain types of fabric."

Blaise smiled. "Must have hit a mark to get you to be so jumpy, eh mate? You did go see her after the show."

Draco stalled for a moment by reaching for a chocolate covered biscuit. Chewing for a moment, he swallowed then haughtily replied, "I don't see how that is any of your business."

"Come now Draco, I'm a friend. What the duce happened back there?"

"Unfortunately nothing," Draco placed a hand over his heart, affecting an injured manner. "She was not as charmed as I would have liked. Wounded me to the core, she did."

"Did she now?"

"Quite. Fancy that game of chess?"

Blaise smiled knowingly. "I can take a hint. Very unsubtle of you though. Are you becoming a Gryffindor behind my back?"

"Good Gods no!"

"Then I'll drop the subject."

Draco looked at Blaise steadily for a moment, and offhandedly said, "White or Black?"

Blaise took a sip of tea, and pondered his words carefully. "White goes first. It gives you the advantage if you are very good at planning attacks. However, if you choose black, you can sit back and anticipate attacks, plot, strategize.

"The White King moves his pawns into place, not caring about the pieces he sacrifices along the way. Under the influence of a skilled manipulator, he will sacrifice the strongest pieces he has, never noticing how weak it makes him. When that happens, the Black can then strike."

Draco looked at the chessboard grimly, not really seeing it, rather seeing the grim future that Blaise predicted for them. Who was the manipulator? Why? To gain power for themselves? Revenge against him? Against Voldemort? _This situation is seriously driving me insane._

Looking up at Blaise, he found him staring at his face with a thoughtful expression in his dark eyes.

"So, Zabini, what will it be?"

"Black."

**000**

A few days later, Draco found himself in the Hogwarts library. Walking grumpily to the index book, he pondered on the increasingly unstable mental condition of his liege lord.

_Gods, he is so paranoid. _

It took days of persuasion to convince Voldemort that going to the library was necessary for the investigation of the theft. _If I wasn't already convinced that The Dark King was planning to off me, I certainly am now. He's being so petty it's embarrassing._

Contemplating the irrational temperament of his beloved tyrant gave Draco a terrible headache, so he decided not to sort out His Majesty's convoluted reasoning until later. Writing the title and the author of the desired book in the index, he waited impatiently for the damned thing to hurry up and show him where it was. Happily gaining a quick response, he soon headed down the little-used aisles in search of the Ancient History section.

When he got there, he immediately wrinkled his nose at the rank smell of mildew given off by the unkempt books. _Guess the preserving spells need to be renewed. I'll have to tell someone to take care of it; no one else seems to care these days…_

Idly skimming the shelves with his eyes, he alighted upon the one where _The Eleusinian_ _Mysteries Revealed _was supposed to be. He quickly skimmed the titles, paused a moment, then looked more carefully.

The book wasn't there.

There were only a few reasons why a book was not on its shelf in Hogwarts library. One: The book was checked out. Since the library had been in disuse for five years, and the index said it was on the shelf, this option was not likely.

Two: The book was in the sorting bin to be re-shelved magically. Not likely for the same reasons as number one.

Three: One of Voldemort's minions, or Voldemort himself had the book. More probable, but still not very likely, since any books His Dark Majesty perused were all recorded and pondered thoroughly each week by his spies. (He was still a Slytherin after all, and spying was just one of those things that simply cannot be gotten out of one's system.)

Four: The thief had struck again.

That meant the thief could get into Hogwarts.

That meant the thief had an intimate knowledge of the library.

That meant the thief was more dangerous than he had ever dreamed.

Paranoia suddenly started to sound like a good idea.

**000**

A/N: Phew, got this out before spring break. Thought I wouldn't make it for awhile. This is the chapter that never ends! Actually, it was supposed to be twice as long. (The mind boggles) So, I cut it in half. Bad news, no D/Hr interaction. Good news, next chapter ALL D/Hr! So, a question to ponder – Are short chapters with frequent updates better, or long chapters in more time?

A/N2: The Eleusinian Mysteries were real, and there was a death penalty on those who revealed its secrets. So, this makes it ideal for writers like me to make up pertinent information! Hehehe…

A/N3: Thanks so much to all my wonderful reviews on & (Hey, anyone else know where else I can archive this thing?)

**Kyra4: **I have to tell you, I absolutely love your stories. That being said, when I saw that you had reviewed, I let out a loud squeal that probably woke up several people and startled the hell out of my boyfriend. Thank you so much for your support, I will try my best to keep this interesting and un-cliché.

**Apathetica: **Thank you so much for your review! I enjoy your story very much, especially what you have done with Draco and Blaise, and with the wizarding society as a whole. Very intriguing. I am glad you like my story!


	5. Chapter Five

**Vengeance**

**Chapter Five**

000

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter or any of its paraphernalia, JK Rowling does.

000

**The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.**

**Sun Tzu  
The Art of War. **

000

Saturday morning found Draco again at the White Devil. Anticipating his meeting with Granger, he had been antsy for the past few days. Now, as the appointed day had finally arrived, the hours seemed to drag on to eternity.

He had alternated his thoughts of Granger with thoughts of the disturbing discovery he had made at Hogwarts a few days prior. It was most likely that he thief knew how to get into Hogwarts and had been stealing surreptitiously for some time. Draco's Slytherin mind had been working on overtime, keeping him up at night, distracting him from important meetings, and generally making a nuisance of itself.

How could he use this to his advantage?

The question rolled itself over and over, begged to be asked, examined at every angle. Action could be left to the Gryffindors, this was where his true talents lay. He hadn't been this excited over a piece of information since he ferreted out the whereabouts of McGonagall.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows at the thought. He had discovered Hermione Granger, the Mudblood Queen, the most wanted fugitive left from the war, best friend of Harry Potter himself. Why wasn't he salivating about how he could use her presence to bring political gain for himself?

Sensing that this was a path his consciousness didn't want to wander at this moment, he shoved the wayward thoughts down deep, to think about late at night, just as his mind gave itself over to sleep and there were no more restraints.

So then, what to do about the thief?

There was no telling what sort of things he had stolen over the years. When Voldemort had first taken over the ancient building, there were a few things missing, admittedly. But it was thought Dumbledore had sequestered the most valuable items away for safekeeping, out of the reach of the enemy in case of invasion.

Even worse, in the Dark King's arrogance, he had moved all valuable ministry documents and records to Hogwarts for safekeeping. If Voldemort couldn't breach Hogwarts' defenses than no one else certainly could, right?

Wrong.

Someone had probably breached the defenses, many times, taking many valuable items, or more worrisome, spying on any number of meetings of the most private sort, between the King and his advisors. Yes, there were large problems.

So what to do? Tell his megalomaniacal liege lord that the thief that could break into Gringotts had most likely penetrated the very heart of Voldemort's sanctuary?

Not if he wanted to live for more than thirty seconds.

No, he had to somehow work this situation to his advantage, but he just wasn't sure how to accomplish that just yet. His body was vibrating with frustration, burning with nervous energy. He wasn't sure if he was in any state to fence wits with Granger, but he simply couldn't wait any longer. He had to talk to her _now._

As he stepped through the impressive entrance of the building, he was greeted immediately and profusely by the ever-present Roderick.

"My Lord! How good to see you again. What may we do for you today?"

Draco smiled condescendingly as he let the smaller man take his cloak. "Good to be here again Roderick. I was wondering, is Miss Gardiner in yet?"

Roderick, who was smoothing out the folds in Draco's cloak with anal retentive abandon, smiled and said, "Oh yes Lord Malfoy! In fact, she is at rehearsal for tonight's show. Would you like me to show you to one of the parlors, or to the library where you can occupy yourself until she is finished?"

_Rehearsal, eh? That sounds… delicious. Almost a private show. And I know how well Granger puts on private shows. _Draco started walking smoothly towards the main hall, where Granger had entertained last week. He called back to Roderick, who was anxiously watching him, "No need, no need. I'll just catch the end of it, and talk to her afterwards."

"Very well Milord."

000

The auditorium was very different. Instead of a large, lavish tent, this time the room actually resembled a club. Sort of. Well, there were chairs anyway. Clusters of small individual tables were stark, with only a lone candle on each. In contrast to the barren tables, the chairs were almost decadent. Black, buttery soft leather, they were large enough for a tall man to stretch out and were unbelievably comfortable.

Besides the luxurious chairs, the room was sparsely decorated. The walls were a stark white, with a few pieces of highly colored, large abstract art hanging at strategic intervals. Animated like all wizarding paintings, these pieces obviously couldn't talk. They seemed to suggest various emotions, one done in blue tones moved quite soothingly, while a painting done in fiery reds spun about energetically. In contrast to the complex paintings, interspersed between the tables stood pedestals with simple silver sculptures, each suggesting a woman's curves.

Draco sat in one of the large chairs near the back of the room, and sighed in approval as it relaxed his tense neck muscles. _Mmm… These must be charmed with a muscle relaxing spell. Clever girl. _

After ordering some tea from Roderick, he settled down to watch the show.

At the moment, there didn't seem to be much going on. Men and women in ridiculously tight outfits were stretching on stage, gleaming with sweat. Granger wasn't even on stage, but was chatting with a few of the female dancers on the floor, sipping slowly on a bottle of water as she lectured to them about something or other.

He wasn't paying attention to that, however.

He was fascinated by her outfit.

Sexy in its simplicity, it consisted of a brief black top that supported her breasts and a tiny pair of black shorts. Each clung to her body like a second skin. Each exposed a jaw-dropping amount of pale skin.

Raised in traditional wizarding society, Draco was not accustomed to woman blatantly exposing their bodies in public. He had heard that muggle fashion was shocking and lewd, especially for females. In the Slytherin house, all of the girls had conformed to the strict dress codes imposed by Pureblood Society. The only time he had seen muggle fashion for himself, really, was on the weekend trips to Hogsmeade. Then the mudblood girls would dress in the scandalously short skirts and indecently tight jumpers without a care in the world. As if they were better than the pureblood girls.

It was disgusting.

Even more disgusting was the fact that the muggle fashion looked so damn _good_.

Especially on Granger.

Not as bold as the other mudbloods, she would still wear those tight blue trousers that made her arse look better than a million galleons.

Not that he had noticed or anything.

Right.

At the moment, Granger was toweling off the sweat that had accumulated on her face while absent-mindedly listening to one of her dancers. Moving her horrendous blond hair off to the side, she slowly wiped up the excess moisture. Picking up her cold water bottle, she placed it on her neck and closed her eyes, sighing in relief. Draco felt an answering twitch in his groin.

He quickly jerked his eyes away. To keep his mind from going down paths it was not supposed to tread, he instead focused on a small group of men off to one side of the stage. Mostly unremarkable, plain, specimens he mused. There was, however, one exception. Tall and athletic, he had bright, close-cropped hair. His face was breathtaking. Almost too pretty to be masculine, his features were perfectly proportioned.

Draco didn't like him.

He especially didn't like him when Granger, coming off from her break, casually walked up to him and started making conversation. From the small gestures she was making with her hands, she seemed to be explaining some dance step, but Draco couldn't care less. He was focused on her eyes, her lips. She seemed so _animated_. It was as if she was half alive before, and it took this pretty-boy to wake her up. Like Sleeping Beauty and her goddamn Prince. Revolting.

All too soon, the other men had moved off to one side of the stage and the pretty boy and Granger were walking towards the center. She spoke quietly to the man, and he nodded. She turned to the band lounging down in the pit off to the side of the stage to begin playing. Taking their partner's hand, they looked in each other's eyes for a few moments.

Then they spun into a flurry of motion.

To the sounds of a throbbing beat, the man took Granger in his arms and held her close. _Indecently_ close. One hand held hers, but the other was resting on her exposed waist, slowly inching down to the curve arse. Moving in unison, feet flying, they danced around the stage in close contact.

Suddenly, the music slightly changed its beat and the man actually picked Granger up, and she _straddled his waist!_ Spinning around briefly in this position, she was quickly put down, but the damage had been done. The man was dead. Eviscerated. Disemboweled. Draco had a dungeon full of fun torture devices that he was usually too squeamish to use. But he would make an exception for this man.

Draco could pinpoint the exact moment she noticed him. Even though he was preoccupied with pleasant thoughts of the pretty boy's imminent death, he was still watching her closely. She was spinning with a large, fake smile pasted on her lips, then that over-pretty prat caught her and dipped her so she was facing the audience. Her hard, glittering eyes focused on the audience completely for time. When she saw him in his comfortable chair, her eyes widened, and her sham of a smile faltered for the first time.

He smirked at her and gave a mocking little wave of his fingers, glad that he could so easily attract her attention from the dance she so obviously loved.

Unfortunately for him, another dancer was also watching Granger with the same attention as he was. Noticing her faltering expression, the girl looked in the direction of Granger's gaze and spotted him. Narrowing her eyes, she regarded him for a few moments, than seemed to come to some conclusion about him in her head. Without looking behind her, she bounced over in his direction, stumbling into a table on her way.

Rolling his eyes, he ignored her presence, instead focusing on Granger twirling in the other man's arms. As he saw the man lift her over his head in an impressive act of strength, gripping tightly to her inner thighs, he felt an involuntary growl build up in his throat.

"Derek is gayer than a lark in springtime, you know."

Draco blinked, his intense focus interrupted to look at the girl now sitting in the cushy chair next to him. Attractive enough, he supposed, with pretty features, although her hair was a strange shade of yellow that he was certain couldn't be natural. Bright blonde was believable, sure, (look at his own hair) but neon yellow?

The girl seemed to make herself right at home, helping herself to a cup of tea, while watching the pair dance. Just as Draco was about to tell her to leave, she spoke up.

"She can dance us all into the floor, you know. Helena has amazing stamina. She's almost inhuman!"

Attention captured by the presumptuous girl, he studied her for a moment before commenting, "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, not all of us wanted to be dancers; it just was one of the only options to us of mixed blood. I am just too clumsy to make a decent performer, but Helena was nice enough to take me in anyway. Two left feet. So I dance in the back and help with other things."

Draco was watching Granger during this speech, half listening, watching her flip around, watching her hips sway. "Mmm-hmmm. Right. So, erhm, Helena is a super-dancer. Why am I not surprised? I don't see anything special about her." It was a bit of a lie, but he never liked admitting (even to himself) that Granger was especially good at things. It threw his worldview off kilter, and made him think strange thoughts at night as he was going to sleep…

"Well you should! It is as if she lives the dance. She can dance longer than Derek even, and he was a ballet dancer before… well, before."

Granger had caught his eyes again in a smouldering, angry look. A 'What-the-hell-are-you-doing-here' sort of look. It was sexy. Then that feminine bastard cupped one firm thigh and pulled her hips up to his in a very naughty dip. That would have been sexy if it wasn't another man with his hands all over her bare skin.

"Mister? Oi! Mister, are you listening?" The annoying girl had apparently been speaking for some time, and he wasn't paying attention. What the hell was wrong with him? Granger wasn't _that_ attractive! He couldn't let his senses be dulled, especially now that his life was on the line.

With that in mind, he turned to the girl with a charming smile. "I'm sorry, I was thinking about something else, would you mind repeating what you said?"

For some reason, his charming behavior seemed to make her wary of him. "Nothing of importance, really, just telling you that the rehearsal is almost over… Oh! Have you ever heard Helena sing? I absolutely _love_ her voice! Such an amazing talent, you know, I was so surprised when I first met her…"

Tuning out the annoyance next to him, Draco focused on the woman on the stage. Now her partner was red in the face and breathing heavily, but impressively still swinging her at the same fast tempo as they started. Granger's skin was glistening and her breathing was a bit elevated, but she looked nowhere near as worn out as her partner. _Maybe that annoying girl was right after all._

Suddenly, the handsome man picked Granger up by the waist and tossed her up in the air. For one breathless moment, Draco thought that she might hit the ground, instead, she spun gracefully and was plucked out of the air by her partner.

Tucking one sleek thigh next to the pretty boy, lifting her arms in her final pose, she opened her eyes. And looked directly at Draco.

Surprised by the amount of emotion in them, he was held captive. Excitement, fear, regret, pain, and others he couldn't even begin to name.

But only for a moment. The shield of control she held around herself was lifted only for a moment, then shut completely. She looked cold in comparison.

Finally breaking his gaze, she dropped the pose and spoke to her Company, "Call at eight sharp. Rest up; we have an exhausting show tonight."

She stepped down off the stage, wiping the gleaming sweat off her body with a towel graciously provided by one of the eager male members of her troupe. Smiling a bit abstractedly at him, her eyes kept wandering back to where Draco was sitting.

Good. He didn't want to be the only one distracted out of his mind.

She made an announcement regarding the call hour for the show, and slowly made her way over to where he was sitting. Looking askance at his unsolicited companion, she briefly smirked.

"Tanya… Don't you have props to move?"

The girl, Tanya, pulled a face and whined "Do I have to? I mean, I moved all the props last week!"

Granger just leveled one of her superior looks on the girl, and after a brief battle of wits, the girl bowed her head in submission.

"Fine, fine. I'll see you tonight at eight, right Helena?"

"Absolutely."

The girl briefly looked up, and with concerned eyes older than her years, she seemed to communicate some unspoken message to Granger.

Granger's razor eyes briefly softened, and she squeezed the girl's hand. "Yes. I'll definitely see you tonight."

Contented, the girl bounced away, but not before giving Draco a cheeky wave and a wink. Nonplussed, he turned to Granger, who was looking at him in amusement.

"I see you have met our Tanya. Lovely girl is she not?"

Draco raised an elegant brow and sniffed, "If you like hyperactive, clumsy chipmunks perhaps."

Granger's mouth widened to an approximation of a smile. It didn't quite reach her eyes, but it was still the closest thing to a genuine smile he had seen on her face since finding her again.

And it was because of him.

000

As Granger led him down the corridors to her dressing room, he couldn't help but notice the sway of her hips, the smoothness of the exposed skin of her back, the tightness of her bottom. _Get a grip! She is just a woman, and I'll need all my wits about me for this conversation._

Arriving at her bland dressing room, he carefully closed the door behind them. Granger lost no time and rounded on him. "Malfoy. You're early."

Draco smirked, "And you are as charming as ever, I see. Still no manners?"

She arched a brow, and said, "Certainly not for you. You're not worth it."

"Now, now, haven't we gotten past these childish barbs?"

She assessed him with a scathing look, "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Anyway, I need to wash up." She gave a mocking little curtsey, which only emphasized how little she actually had on. "Please make yourself at home while I take a quick shower."

Without a second glance at him she moved towards a small door near the bar, which he assumed was the bath. Looking around the room, he saw that it was just as dull as it was the first time. Damn.

Settling down on the sofa as he did last time, he mentally prepared himself to read an excruciatingly vapid issue of _Witch Weekly. _Flipping open to an article on how to magically remove unwanted body hair, he sniggered quietly at the silliness of the female species.

Sometime while wholly engrossed in the excruciating decisions of lavender robes versus pink when attending a formal ball, a small house elf popped into the room carrying a large tray.

Looking surprised to see him, the elf stammered, "I is sorry Sir! Mistress Helena is not tellings me that she is having company for supper tonight. Should Bitsy be getting more food?"

"Yes. You do that." Draco said in a frosty tone. He rather enjoyed terrorizing Granger's House Elf, if only for the slight amusement. He was so _bored_, and he was certain Granger was doing it to him on purpose.

Squeaking in terror, the Elf quickly disappeared from sight, no doubt to punish herself for displeasing him. _Serves Granger right._

As if thinking about her acted as a summoning spell, Granger opened the door to the little washroom, letting out a huge cloud of steam. Clad only in the little violet robe she had on last time, Draco noticed that while her skin was rosy from a hot shower, her hair was perfectly dry. _Hair__drying charm then. Must be useful. Maybe Granger would give me the incantation? Gah Draco! Thinking about her as if she were a _normal_ human being. She'd be more likely to give me a balding hex. _

When he finally got a glimpse of her face, he was surprised. For the first time since meeting her again, she wasn't wearing any makeup. He was astonished to find that she was actually still quite beautiful without it. Her fair, clear skin glowed from the shower, pink lips and dark eyes unadorned were still stunning. Just different.

"Uh, Malfoy?"

Snapping his gaze up to her vaguely amused eyes, he wondered how long he had been staring at her. Clearing his throat, he gestured to the silver tray. "Your house elf delivered your supper. If we could get to business?"

Granger sniffed prettily as she sat at her dressing table, "Well aren't you quite the spoilt one. Always have to have your own way in everything. No fun for the rest of us."

Any reply from him was squelched when the tiny House Elf (Tiny wasn't it?) delivered another tray heaping with a large assortment of food. Looking at Granger nervously out of the corner of her eyes, she addressed Draco, "Bitsy is bringings all sorts of food to Master. If none is to your likings, than Bitsy will go back to the kitchens to get more."

Granger, eyes hard, looked from him to the tiny Elf, and then answered _for_ him! "No, Bitsy, this will be perfectly all right. Are you sure you wouldn't like this nice scarf I knitted yesterday? It's so warm…"

Draco sneered as the House Elf squeaked in terror, then promptly burst into tears. Amid much sobbing, Granger tried to calm the creature, telling her there was no need for banging her head against the wardrobe, yes, she was a good Elf, no, Granger didn't think Bitsy should iron her ears. _Haughty cow. At least _some_ things will never change. _

Reassured that this was still the same Granger of his schooldays, Draco leisurely poured himself a cuppa and selected a chocolate biscuit from a plate. _That annoying bint earlier completely ruined my tea. _

By the time the Elf calmed down enough to pop back to wherever she came from Draco had fully made himself comfortable on the couch, tea in hand, wand in the other. Absently twirling it through his fingers, he observed her demeanor. Much more relaxed than last week, to be sure. Oddly so. _As if I wouldn't back up my threats!_

It was a disquieting thought. Would he turn her in if he had to? He liked to think he would, but he wasn't so sure. With his unstable situation she might tip the scales of his fate either way. He might be completely redeemed in the eyes of his lord, and that thrice-damned traitor would be punished instead. On the other hand, it might make the Dark King even more wary of his power, and speed up his plans to kill him. Draco sighed. _But that doesn't give Granger any reason to be so damned confident around me! What is she up to?_

Her pale face calm and composed, she prettily ate her light supper. _Well, at least _someone _taught her how to eat like a human. _He thought grudgingly, _Her manners are almost as fine as mine. _

When she was sipping her final cup of tea, she gave him a searching look, as if she was trying to stare into his soul. Her guard seemed to slip a little, and he felt his skin begin to burn. He felt so… so alive while he was with her. It was completely wrong on so many levels, but oh, she _felt_ so completely right.

Surprisingly, he was the first to break the strange spell that had come over them. He gestured with his wand for her to come closer. Shields had come over her eyes again, and he couldn't tell what she was thinking anymore, if he ever could at all. She obligingly stood and sat at the other end of the sofa.

"Why are you doing this for me? Honestly, I thought you were smarter than this." Draco was completely surprised at the question that came out of his mouth. He had meant to ask her about the plot against his life, but somehow his brain decided to take a vacation as he breathed in her freshly showered scent. _Good idea, give her a plan of escape. You are a fully-grown _Slytherin_, not a first-year Hufflepuff! That had all the intelligence of a ten-ton flobberworm._

"Malfoy… Why would I want to destroy my life, everything I have worked for?"

He pondered this answer for a moment. While it seemed reasonable, something about it wasn't adding up. "I don't know, you tell me."

"Malfoy, let me live what little life I have left… Please."

It was the 'please' that did it. Something about Granger begging him for anything made him so aroused that his mind automatically shifted to fantasies of beds and silken cords and begging in a much more sinful way.

"All I want is to be left undisturbed. If I give you this information, I want a guarantee. You or your actions will have nothing to do with unsettling my life in any way."

She had pinned him with that razor sharp stare, the one that was so unlike any expression he had seen on her at Hogwarts. It jolted him out of any lustful fantasies he had been having. Her face, devoid of makeup, looked as close as it ever had to her previous self, but the eyes… No, the eyes were too hard. It made him suspect her words, suspect her motives.

He moved, sinuously, towards her on the sofa to breathe softly in her ear. "And no thoughts of… revenge? Revenge for all that you have lost?"

Because he was so close (_Ah, so close_) to her, he couldn't see her expression, but he felt her body stiffen. From outrage or nerves, he couldn't be sure.

Just as softly, just as smoothly, she whispered, "And why would I want to do that? At this rate your Dark King will decimate wizard kind himself, and I will not have to lift a finger."

Taken aback, he jerked away from their sham embrace to look at her face. Perfectly composed, but without emotion. She was hiding something.

"Explain."

She sighed and turned away from him to look at an uninteresting potted plant sitting nearby, and spoke quietly as if thinking aloud, "How do I explain without getting technical? Perhaps I can compare it to something you will know about." She turned to him, "Malfoy, do you breed animals?"

Blinking at the seemingly irrelevant question, he replied almost automatically, "Erhm, yes, Aethonon flying horses, actually. But almost all pureblooded families breed something."

She took a deep breath. "Good, perhaps this will be easier to explain then."

"When a population of creatures - which could be horses, dogs, hippogriffs, dragons, anything - becomes too isolated, than odd things begin happening. Strange diseases, stillbirths, malformities, and lots of other things that run in specific families. Things that cannot be cured by magic."

She paused in her lecture, and Draco was reminded of a certain bushy-haired girl in Potions, eagerly explaining the properties of some irrelevant ingredient. Annoyed that she was making him nostalgic, no matter how unintentional, he make a quick motion for her to get on with it.

Glaring, she made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat. "Anyway, these problems are commonly attributed to 'bad blood' in the wizarding world, but muggles know the exact reason. It's due to the lack of… variation in the individuals of the population. When there are no outside individuals coming into the population, there is no new 'blood' to cancel out the blood that has invariably gone 'bad' over time due to perfectly natural causes."

Draco was intrigued. Blood causing illness? In men like it did with animals? A memory of his mother when he asked why she didn't have any more children flashed through his mind.

_Narcissa gave a small, sad smile and said, "Oh, we did try darling. I… I just couldn't seem to carry any more children to term."_

He cleared his throat and asked, "What sort of diseases are you talking about?"

Granger tilted her head in that way she had when thinking. "Well, I think that the high incidence of squibs in recent years is due to this phenomenon. Probably the stillbirths as well. And with the new social order and the refusal to see muggle science as a way to explain and cure these problems, I don't see wizarding society lasting very long."

She leaned in, so close that her pink lips were almost touching his. Eyes glittering, she said, "So you see Malfoy, why would I need to take revenge? You are doing it for me. You are breeding yourselves out of existence and you don't even know it."

Sitting back onto the couch, Draco shoved this information into a small corner of his mind to ponder later. Clearing his throat, he said, "Well, that seems… reasonable. Now that I am assured that you are not staying in the wizarding world to harm me or my own, we can get to the real business. Is this location secure?"

Granger gave him a _look_ that told him it was a stupid question.

"Right. Over-achiever strikes again."

"Just shove it."

Walking over to her dressing table, she bent over to open one of the drawers, giving him a marvelous view of her arse in the process. His mouth went dry, and it was all he could to stop himself from staking over there and taking her against that dainty little vanity.

Oblivious to his bent of thought, she plucked out a sheet of parchment from the drawer, and gracefully handed it to him.

Simple and to the point, it basically said that the information received would be given in exchange for the life and privacy of one Hermione Granger.

To be sealed in blood.

Magically.

_Well, I guess she wasn't called the smartest witch in one hundred years for nothing. _Unhappy with the situation, but seeing no way out of it, Draco took a tiny platinum knife out of his robes.

Granger eyes it appraisingly, "Lovely piece there. Heirloom, I presume?"

Draco smirked, "Of course. Let's get this bloody thing over with so I know who I need to destroy."

Granger mirrored his smirk, "After you."

Grimacing as the knife slashed through the tender flesh of his hand, Draco made a small cut. Squeezing a few drops onto the parchment, he saw the blood soak and disappear into the enchanted document.

Granger took the knife from him and repeated the process, although to Draco's embarrassment, she didn't flinch when the knife bit into her skin.

She took out her wand and muttered briefly over the parchment, and then blood-red letters started to appear. Draco watched, outwardly nonchalant, inwardly quaking, as his signature and Granger's appeared in blood. Binding.

_What have I done?_

_Saved my life._

_Committed treason! _

_Saved my life. _

Life won. Most definitely.

Draco turned to Granger and growled, "Give me a name. Now."

She looked at him calmly and said, "Theodore Nott and Peter Pettigrew. But Nott is the mastermind."

He took a moment to absorb the information, and rolling it though his quick mind. _Can't say I am surprised. That skinny bastard has always hated me, even at Hogwarts…_

Granger looked almost sympathetic, eyes softening minutely. She sighed, "Now will you get the hell out of here? I have a show that I need to get ready for."

Almost sympathetic.

000

Lying in bed that night, naked under the silk sheets, he was kept awake by snippets of the conversation with Granger.

Something seemed wrong about the whole thing… Something…

His head snapped up as he realized it.

She had never _really_ answered his question about revenge… she had only repeated it. And revenge over the long term never did suit the impetuous Gryffindor.

_Malfoy, why would I need to take revenge?_

Why indeed?

000

A/N1: Sorry for the wait! It was so hard to write this chapter. I either had the time and no inspiration, or no time and lots of inspiration. Ick. Anyway, I hope this was satisfying.

A/N2: As a genetics major, it was incredibly difficult to write that last part about 'blood' without getting technical! I mean a wizard wouldn't even understand the terms DNA or genes! Hope I did well enough to explain the theory behind it.

A/N3: The particular breed of flying horses is from Fantastic Beasts.

A/N4: Thanks to my sparkly new beta, Cecilia Voss! She did a lovely job with this chapter.


	6. Chapter Six

**Vengeance**

**Chapter Six**

**Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter, and am not making any money off of this. J.K. Rowling owns all Harry Potter related ideas/items, and makes a crapload of money. The idea for the orb's 'personality' comes from The Belgariad series by David Eddings, which I also don't own.**

**000**

"It is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver."

-Niccolo Machiavelli

**000**

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was once a haven for the magical children of Great Britain. A grand, cheery place under the dominion of Dumbledore, it made all things seem possible. Even to a small, orphaned boy who had never understood hope.

Now, the enchanted sky was dark and dull. The stone walls were dark and soot-covered, and all the brightly colored tapestries were in tatters. On the dais where the Head table once stood, there was now a terrible throne.

It was whispered that the throne was created out of the transfigured blood of Harry Potter. Or perhaps it was Dumbledore's. In any case, those who stood in front of the throne had a statistically small chance of ending up alive. Often that terrible, black chair was the last thing that an unfortunate soul saw.

Hogwarts was the impermeable stronghold that Voldemort had never captured outright; only invaded, with the help of Draco Malfoy. It was only when the survivors of the last battle fled from the field outside the castle that the doors reluctantly opened to the victor. Even now, there were some places that Voldemort could not access. The headmaster's office had been sealed tight, and no amount of dark magic could open it again.

Today, the self-proclaimed Dark King was lounging on that horrifying throne__ idly tapping his long, cracked fingernails on the edge. He and the rest of his council were listening to a drawn out report given by Macnair on the receptivity of the Eastern Governments to the new ideology of Wizarding Britain.

Bored, Voldemort surveyed the assembly of fawning courtiers with a small measure of satisfaction. Finally, he had what he wanted. What he _deserved_. He was the most powerful wizard in Britain, and on his way to becoming the most powerful wizard in the world. Also, those thrice-damned muggles were well on their way to extinction.

Finally, he had true power.

He only needed to keep it.

Young Malfoy was becoming a problem, just as his grandfather and father were before him. Such powerful, influential blood did not heed well to taking orders. Draco was used to being a leader, he mused, and while he was a model follower at the moment, he would soon become too power-hungry for his taste.

Ah well, followers were easily replaced anyway.

Turning his attention to the conversation at hand, he mused on the current state of politics. Attacks on muggles were going smoothly, but outright war had been postponed until other magical governments would lend their support. The time was almost upon them. Most of the European governments were allied to them, and the others would come around. Ambassadors had been sent to the farthest reaches of the globe, and the results were promising.

"…The far east is going to be harder to convert than Avery thinks."

"But they are very traditional, more traditional than Europe in some respects."

"Yes, but there were no widespread witch-burnings in Asia in recent history, no mass hysteria of the muggles. The wizarding community there is much closer to the muggle one than we are. It will be very hard to convert them to our cause."

Avery stammered a reply, and looked at the Dark King out of the corner of his eye. The King wore a terrible smile on his face at his public embarrassment, but made no move to go for his wand. Avery gave an inner sigh of relief. He would live to see another day.

Blaise Zabini idly flicked an imaginary piece of lint of off his already immaculate robes. "The Swiss have the reputation of being neutral, of course. There have been rumors of sightings of… certain individuals in the region around Interlaken."

"It is very mountainous there, very dangerous."

Blaise sniffed haughtily, "Yes. People could, and have, been swallowed up without a trace. We think we have found leads to the whereabouts of the Rebel base, but we are not certain."

Voldemort smiled slightly. "Good, Lord Zabini. Continue. I would like to see… results."

There was a collective shudder at the kind of 'results' that the Dark King would want.

"You are dismissed."

The Death Eaters tried to hurry out without actually _looking_ like they were hurrying. Few accomplished it.

"Except… Young Lord Nott. Attend me."

Silkily walking up to the throne, Nott's body was tall and relaxed. Only his pale eyes showed any fear. He walked up the dais and prostrated himself in front of the throne, taking the hem of Voldemort's robe and kissing it.

"Rise."

Theodore Nott stood gracefully, and said smoothly, "How shall I serve you, Your Highness?"

"Tell me about Draco Malfoy."

" He is the worst of blood traitors, like his father. If not openly spying for the Rebels yet, he soon will," Nott sneered, his thin lips curling unattractively, "His desire for power will soon outstrip his loyalty to you. He has made no headway in the Gringotts Robbery, and even if he did find the object, I have no doubt that he would keep it for himself."

Voldemort studied his face impassively, almost looking through him. Nott was glad that he had conformed to fashion and wore his hair long, because the back of his neck was rapidly accumulating an embarrassing amount of sweat. _Calm thoughts. Occlumency. I can do this!_

"Young Malfoy has outlived his usefulness. If he does not report favorably at the next meeting, he will be executed for treason." Voldemort flicked his fingers slightly, dismissing him.

Inwardly, Nott's brain was doing the can-can. Outwardly, his face showed no sign of his delight. He bowed deeply as he retreated from the throne, "You are very wise, Your Eminence."

Voldemort's cold voice cut through his joyous inner monologue, "If I find that you are deceiving me, I will make you feel so much pain that you will wish you are dead."

Nott practically ran out of the castle.

000

Hermione Granger struggled wearily into the apartment after an exhausting morning rehearsal. Legally belonging to the fictional Helena Gardiner, the apartment was functional and sparse. And Hermione liked it that way, the fewer ties to a place she had, the easier it was to leave behind.

But here she was, back in England again. In Wizarding London, no less. At the very heart of danger her cover had to be perfect. Her act needed to be perfect. And it was compromised.

_Stupid, sodding ferret. How the hell did he recognize me?_

At least she had neutralized that potential threat. But she was still stewing over the indignity of being recognized. She was _so_ far away from her Hogwarts persona. And she was so close to finally getting her revenge. So close. And it was too late to stop, even if she wanted to.

She conjured up a pot of tea using her wand, ('Helena' would never use something as mundane as a stove) and half-heartedly cleaned the already sparkling apartment while she sipped. Her eyes kept wandering to the clock as she worked. When it was fifteen to one, she stretched her muscles and walked leisurely into the washroom.

Looking at the mirror over the sink, she impassively took in her features. Her painted face and yellow hair stared back. Suddenly, she turned on the taps and furiously began to scrub her face. When the sink was stained with rivulets of color and her face was blessedly clean, she took out her wand. She removed the glamour on her hair and it returned to her natural dark, wild curls.

The face in the mirror was more familiar now, but there was sharpness to her features and shadows under her eyes that bespoke of too much worrying and not enough sleep.

_Oh, Harry… Ron…If you were here, would you recognize me? _

Her conscience, that practical, dry voice in her head that had never led her astray told her that she was being a whiny little brat. She did what needed to be done. That was all. _They will pay…and that is all that matters._

Taking a few shuddering breaths, she checked her watch. One o'clock exactly. She picked up the tube of toothpaste sitting on the sink and felt the familiar tug behind her navel.

000

The Rebellion was born of practical measures. After the defeat, all the survivors portkeyed to a storm-tossed isle off the coast of Wales. When Hermione Granger showed up – dry-eyed, tear-stained – carrying Harry Potter's invisibility cloak and other items that had been strewn around Hogwarts, they knew.

It was over.

Harry Potter was dead.

As everyone stood in shock, in what was to be her defining moment, Hermione took charge. Sending home the youngest children who may have had a chance at a normal life, and the children of Death Eaters. When all the survivors who had nowhere safe to go were gathered, they apparated separately or with a child to the base that had been set up in the wilds of Russia.

The Order had become the Rebellion.

They moved often in the five years since the horrid battle, one step ahead of Voldemort and his followers. Some were caught. Some were not. This was war, and one learned to be immune to pain even if it could not be stopped.

As Hermione jerked back into reality, she blinked her eyes rapidly to try to dispel the nausea that portkeying always brought to her stomach. She sighed as she felt her innards return to normal.

The current base, deep in the French Alps, was charmed to look like a muggle Ghost Town. There were no access roads, so only the occasional adventurous hiker stumbled upon them. A careful _Obliviate_ took care of that problem nicely.

Hermione walked through the little village, passing Luna Lovegood teaching some of the students Transfiguration in a little sun-drenched meadow by the houses. She stopped, and as she observed their struggles at changing spoons to pillows, she was brought back to her first lessons. _At least there were proper teachers_. Thinking wistfully of McGonagall, lessons, and happier times, she helped a young boy (who looked remarkably like Seamus) to conjure a pillow that didn't have a metallic sheen. Luna shot her a distracted smile of thanks, and went back to explaining her personal theories behind the efforts of The Dark King to cover up the existence of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled.

Some things would never change.

She looked over the rag-tag group and observed their progress proudly. She worried about these children, so young, so innocent, so fucking _guiltless_ in this whole mess. Worrying about the fate of muggleborns born in Britain now, when Voldemort held the throne, had Hermione up until the wee hours of the morning, kicking herself for not doing something, _anything_, to help them. Accidental magic, something so natural to those children, would mark them as unnatural, as something vile to be purified.

If Voldemort found them first, that is.

It was a race against time. The first thing that Hermione had stolen from the hallowed halls of Hogwarts had been the Great Roll of the school. Having taught the younger students in the base camps during the first weeks after their defeat to regain some sense of normalcy, Professor McGonagall had remembered the Roll. Charmed to list all the children of Britain who exhibited magical talent, it was used to send the invitations to the first years. Then.

Now, it was deadly.

Hermione had always idly wondered how the Wizarding World found her. Hence, she was alarmed that other muggleborns were in danger of slavery or worse from something that had brought her so much joy.

So, they concocted a plan.

It wasn't much of a plan, really. More like an act of desperation. The Rebellion would break into Hogwarts.

Easy.

Right. And assassinating Voldemort on a bright, sunny day in the middle of his huge-ass fortress guarded by about fifty Dementors would be easy too.

Of those left, only Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks had Auror training. Kingsley had undergone extensive injuries, so he was out. Tonks couldn't sneak up on a blind/deaf/mute. Neville, Lupin, and Ginny _**–**_ last of the Weasleys – were willing but none of them had the grace of a thief. Millicent Bulstrode certainly was sneaky, but all of her cunning was put to better use by plotting rather then by trying to wedge her large frame through very small openings. Lavender Brown and Lisa Turpin were terrified of anything after the last battle. Loud noises, dark places, heights, water, guinea pigs, _anything_.

Funny that no one really thought to ask Luna.

Somehow, Hermione was the logical choice.

Small, smart, flexible, quiet and graceful due to her dance training at her Grandmother's studio, she had all of the necessary qualities.

So, Kingsely and Tonks schooled Hermione in the arts of stealth and sneaking magic. And Lupin, who knew the basics of Occlumency, helped her erect the mental shields that would keep her invisible in all ways.

One day, Ginny had a brilliant idea. Why not cut up Harry's invisibility cloak and make a suit? It was forever catching on corners and ripping at Hogwarts, and a suit would make for easier maneuvering. Somehow, Ginny procured invisible thread, then took Hermione's measurements and tailored a skintight outfit that was leagues better than the old cloak.

Hermione's new career was born. She stole from Hogwarts. She took from the ministry. She looted Gringotts.

She took items that The Rebellion needed, or ones that would be dangerous in the hands of the mad king. Never so much or with a distinct style, so that the robberies could not reasonably be connected together. Except by someone with extreme paranoia, of course.

As Hermione trudged through the village, she spotted a few more classes in session. Neville teaching Herbology, Lupin with the older Defense against the Dark Arts students, Millicent Bulstrode teaching beginners Potions, and – much to her disdain – Lavender Brown teaching Divination.

Finally stopping at a small, ramshackle house Hermione paused to inhale the heavy scent of the lilacs that grew by the door. Smiling slightly, she walked inside.

Tiny - only four rooms - it was the smallest house in the village, but for some reason all of the most important meetings of The Rebellion were held there. Perhaps because of the incredible sense of comfort that one had upon stepping into the house. Neat as a pin, but absolutely filled with books, plushy chairs and sofas, and little knickknacks collected during The Rebellion's forced travels, it was the antithesis of Helena's chic emptiness.

Hermione gave a sigh of relief as she stepped into the house. She felt safe here. She knew she shouldn't, that she should be on guard at all times, but somehow she couldn't help it.

Upon the mantel was the orb.

Glowing softly at her approach, it filled the room with a comforting pink light.

Hermione smiled at it in greeting, but refrained from touching it.

At three o'clock sharp, the leading members of the Rebellion filed in for their weekly meeting. Neville and Millicent, a surprising addition to Harry's Army at the Last Battle, were holding hands and cooing over their new baby. Lavender, draped in layers of multi-colored gauze and bangles drifted in, murmuring to herself about dark omens. As Ron's girlfriend in Sixth Year, she could never go back to a normal life in the outside world, even if she wanted to.

As the others settled on Hermione's cushy sofas, Ginny eyed Hermione critically.

"You look skinnier."

Hermione gave a crooked, tired smile and then rushed into her arms. She sighed slightly and said, "So do you."

And it was true. After her family and Harry died, Ginny was broken. She slept all day and ate practically nothing. After two months of crying, pleading and caring in vain, Hermione had begun to mourn the loss of yet another beloved friend. Then, magically, Ginny appeared one day at breakfast, pale, worn, but showing a hint of the vivacious spirit in he eyes that made her so dearly loved.

Like Molly before her, Ginny took over the practical aspects of the camp. Supervising the cooking and cleaning as well as teaching Charms, she was a mother to the parentless magical children that the Rebellion took into their care.

As Hermione and Ginny chatted softly about the progress of the students as the last stragglers joined the meeting, Lavender's piercing voice cut through the gathering.

"Well? Are we going to get on with it? The cards will not wait for a more fortuitous time, you know. And I have a strong feeling that I will be able to read the fate of the next mission if I lay out a spread within the hour."

Ginny shared a look with Hermione and, unseen by everyone else, rolled her eyes. Then Ginny turned around and smiled brightly. "Now that we are all here, we might as well get on with it. Anything new this week?"

Reports on student progress, activities of high officials of Voldemort's court, etc. Hermione let the words wash over her, passively filing the information away for later dissection.

"Hermione? I do believe it is your turn to report."

Hermione's large eyes blinked rapidly as she looked into the deep eyes of Luna Lovegood. Looking away quickly, she drew a deep breath, wondering how she could word her… eventful… week delicately.

"Right. Well… You know how Malfoy approached me awhile back?"

She charged on without waiting for their answers, picking up speed as she got into her stride, "And you know the mission I went on to check the records stored at Hogwarts? Well I found that the… item… that we are interested in is stored at Malfoy Manor. And I also found that Theodore Nott and Wormtail are plotting to kill Malfoy. So I sort of… I sort of exchanged that information for Malfoy's blood promise that he wouldn't rat me out. For spying, that is. Not thieving. He doesn't know about that… I think."

Silence.

"So… you mean that you just… told him?"

"Erhm, yes."

"For God's sake, _why_?"

Everyone turned to look at Millicent, who had turned a strange purple color at the news. She cleared her throat and said, "You didn't know him like I did. You weren't a Slytherin and you didn't live with him. He talks big, and is pretty much a coward, but he can be very dangerous with information and power. And he _loves_ power."

Hermione blushed under her censorious gaze, but straightened her spine defiantly. "I did what I felt was the right thing to do. I do not want to jeopardize the mission, and for it to work, we need to procure the item from Malfoy's house. Which is one of the most magically fortified buildings in the magical world, I'll have you remember. You need an _invitation_ to get in, or the blood of a Malfoy."

Neville looked crushed and sighed, "Well, there goes another good plan. Malfoy would never invite one of us to his home."

Hermione just smirked slightly, "I won't need to be."

Ginny suddenly smiled and exclaimed, "Brilliant! I see where you are going with this. You don't need to be invited because you already have his blood, don't you? On that contract?"

"Precisely."

There was a general murmur of approval, and it was agreed that Hermione would try to break into Malfoy Manor sometime next week. As the members of The Rebellion filed out of her house, Hermione stretched slightly and looked longingly at the orb sitting on the mantel of the fireplace.

Turning to Ginny, she smiled ruefully, "This new act we are perfecting is really doing a number on my quadriceps. I think I'll just pop into the hot springs for a moment, then we can chat about supplies, alright?"

Ginny laughed and waved her along, "I'll just hang about with Neville, Millie and the baby. You take your time."

"Thanks Gin!"

Hermione quickly made a beeline for the orb, snatched it off the mantel and walked out of the house. Millicent cradled her squirming little boy a little closer, and watched her leave.

"There she goes again to commune with that rock."

"Is that healthy? I mean she spends all of her time with it nowadays."

"Well, it has got to be healthier than her last hobby."

"True. Blowing up trees doesn't say much for one's sanity."

000

Hermione softly padded through the forest with swift feet. Anxious to relieve the week's tension, she absently caressed the orb between her hands taking comfort in the soft warmth it gave off.

It was strange how the orb seemed to 'sense' her moods and alter the special song that Hermione could always hear in her mind when it was around. Never annoying, it seemed to make her almost… happy. If she could be happy anymore.

She had asked the other members of The Rebellion if they could hear the song, but they all looked at her as if she was mad. So she stopped asking.

The glow, however, was much more apparent to the average person. Whenever the orb was around Hermione, it emitted a soft, pleasant, pink light. If another person tried to touch it, the orb was 'angry.' Or as angry as a rock could be, anyhow. Glowing a furious crimson when Lavender tried to pick it up after Hermione first stole the thing; the lightning it spat out nearly gave her third-degree burns.

Needless to say, no one else tried touching it.

The strangest thing about the orb was that it seemed to have a… consciousness… if you could call it that. It often would hold 'conversations' with Hermione, all in her mind through images, variations in the strange song and patterns in light it emitted.

The first time Hermione had touched the thing, it broken into a six part choral anthem, all in Hermione's head (although she didn't know it at the time and was quite scared that someone had heard the racket). Damned inconvenient when you were suspended over the floor trying to steal the most heavily guarded item in Gringotts. Once she had overcome her shock (and steadied herself in her harness) she had hissed at the stupid rock to be quiet. Surprisingly, it did. But not after humming an amused sound.

It had the strangest sense of humor sometimes.

It also had the oddest obsession with men.

Even as Hermione arrived at the hot spring nestled in a niche of the cliffs, she could feel the orb sift through her memories of the past few days and 'pause' whenever it came to an image of a man. In the first few days after… acquiring… the orb, it had undergone what Hermione termed the 'getting to know you' process. Looking through her memories and passing over what Hermione considered to be some of her defining moments (The Last Battle, for example, rated barely a minute of the orb's time).It alsoobsessively examined trivial incidents over and over again (It absolutely _loved_ memories of her happily eating ice cream as a child).

And it loved Draco Malfoy.

Hermione put the orb down on the soft earth as she stripped out of her clothing. She folded it quickly and neatly and placed them in a small cupboard built into the cliff face and pulled out one of the fluffy towels that Ginny always made sure were in ready supply. Somehow. Hermione didn't really need to know what connections Ginny had that allowed her to gain such luxuries for the camp. It was one less thing for her to worry about. And she had enough worries.

She picked up the orb and carefully placed it on the towel by the side of the steaming pool. Finally giving into temptation, she slowly lowered herself down, groaning as the hot water touched her tense flesh. _Oh yeah, this is just what I needed after my horrid week, _she thought,_ Hot baths just aren't the same. _Sighing happily, she dunked her head under the water and allowed herself to relax.

The hot spring was a bonus that one of the younger trainees had found one day when hiking around the camp. After a through chewing out about the dangers of wandering alone through the Alps, the older members of The Rebellion had gone to check out the spring. After thoroughly assessing its safety, as Hermione was incredibly anal-retentive about that sort of thing, it was converted into a bath.

As it was inconveniently stationed about half a kilometer away from the main camp, most elected to use the on-premise showers. Only true hot water junkies like Hermione came here with any regularity.

Just deep enough to come up to the underside of Hermione's breasts, with convenient rock shelves to sit on when she didn't feel like standing, it was paradise. She smoothly ducked under the water and swam to the other side of the pool. As she was coming up for air, she was suddenly assaulted with images of steely gray eyes and platinum hair. _Well I guess the orb was tired of being ignored. _She sighed tiredly and sent thoughts of reassurance to the thing. And squelched _any_ thoughts of Malfoy she might be having. She was not going to give the orb any reasons to launch into what amounted to a dissertation of his good traits.

She was not going to wonder how he recognized her (she had a good disguise!) or how he spent his time now, or reflect on how he had finally grown into his sharp features. He still wasn't very muscular, but at least he had finally gained some height. With his thin mobile mouth, strong jaw, sharp cheekbones and nose, he wasn't conventionally handsome, but he managed to be very appealing nonetheless…

Hermione suddenly shook her head and shot a glare at the orb. "What the hell? Why am I thinking of that bastard? _Attractive_? Hardly. As if I would find that pointy sneak attractive." She swam over to the orb and picked it up, "And don't you plant anymore of these thoughts in my head! I have much more important things to think about than Draco Malfoy."

The orb glowed innocently and continued singing its bubbly song.

**A/N**: Thanks so much to my new beta Emily for doing a wonderful job correcting my grammar, and giving me the confidence to post! Now, I have a question to ask: My story and plot aren't really affected that much by HBP (almost not at all) except for a few scenes and chapter 3. Should I rewrite it? Would love your opinion!

**Reviewer Responses**: I would just like to take the time to thank my reviewers – you guys are wonderful! I am so happy you like my story. I will definitely keep writing! I wanted to respond to reviews individually, but that will have to wait for next time, as I am very busy right now and need to post… Till next time!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Vengeance **

**Chapter Seven**

**000**

**Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter, and am not making any money off this piece of fanfiction. JK Rowling owns all rights to Harry Potter. **

**000 **

"**Delay in vengeance gives a heavier blow"**

**John Ford**

**000**

He was quickly becoming a regular at the club. Watching Hermione perform soon became his favorite activity.

Quite disturbing now that he thought about it.

The auditorium was set to flaring torches, tall palms, ferns, and tropical flowers. Their thick scent filled the air, made more potent by the steamy heat that that permeated the room. Being late summer, it was by no means cold outside, but somehow this temperature gave a distinct impression of _otherness. _The kind of warmth one couldn't find within the limits of Britain.

The low, rough-hewn tables were made of a dark, fragrant wood and around them were long, thin Japanese Tatami mats. These, surprisingly, were not as uncomfortable as Draco thought they would be. _They must be charmed to feel like cushions, _Draco thought grumpily, _Damn her. Will she ever make a mistake?_

There were intimidating Polynesian sculptures of wood and volcanic Basalt scattered around the room. Unlike the art before, these sculptures were not charmed to move. Draco was quite glad about it. Having an eight-foot Tiki god trying to gnaw your head off just didn't make for good entertainment.

Lounging at a table by himself, Draco sipped on his Firewhiskey and casually observed the occupants of the room. _Avery and Macnair at the corner table… Damn, I must say hullo later. I hate talking to those idiots. _He turned his head slightly to glance at the other side of the room. _Let's see. Foreign, poor, poor… hmm, must find out that chap's name later… Parkinson, Crabbe and… Nott!_

Indeed, Nott was seated at the first table at the very center of the stage. His colleagues were chatting and laughing, but he was just sitting quietly, staring intently at the stage.

Draco felt cold at the sight. What was Nott doing here? This was _his_ place to go. Draco did try to limit his excursions to 'The White Devil' to once a week, so as not to arouse too much suspicion about his activities there. But it seemed that it didn't work. Nott was here anyway, undoubtedly to keep an eye on him.

Draco didn't know the depth of the plot to take him down, but he sure as hell knew that Nott was a part of it. Theo had always resented him in school, pandering to him reluctantly. _A good Slytherin should never show his true emotions_, Draco sniffed, _At least to his betters anyway_.

As soon as Granger told him that Nott was the one setting him up for a fall, he had investigated it using his contacts at court. Sure enough, Nott had been in the king's company on several occasions and had been known to skillfully mention his name connected to less-than-popular causes.

Yes, Nott was a part of the plot. But was there anyone else?

He didn't know.

And that bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Turning his attention back to the stage (it would not do to stare) he drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for the show to start. It was a testament to Granger's skill that the hall was this crowded so early in the evening. As an added bonus, it also made his presence here less conspicuous, as there were many regulars who came early and stayed for the whole show.

The lights suddenly dimmed, signaling the start of the show. The audience hushed in anticipation.

What happened next was like an explosion of sound from the stage. A driving, pounding drumbeat came from nowhere. The lights leapt up, revealing four men with glistening, muscular naked chests pounding furiously on waist high kettle drums.

Draco was a bit surprised. Were those… skirts… those men were wearing?

Still drumming furiously, the men started up a deep chant. From offstage, there was an eerie feminine answer.

Suddenly, the female dancers burst onto the stage, wearingcolorful tops that barely covered their breasts and long grass skirts that showed tempting flashes of thigh.

Their outfits were not what wereso exciting though.

The dance was.

Their upper bodies still or moving slowly, it was the hips and buttocks that did most of the work. Moving to the drumbeat, their hips and thighs swayed sexily.

Draco had never seen anything like it. _Muggles must be more sexually charged than I thought. Their every dance practically screams sex_.

The women left the stage to thunderous applause. Draco glanced over to Nott, and noticed him lounging casually on his Tatami mat, not particularly engaging himself in the performance, much like himself.

There were a few more acts – women dancing a slow and seductive dance with beautiful hand movements, a man and a woman juggling fire to the fast pace of the drums, and another woman doing a curious dance with strange objects called 'poi-poi balls.' While this was all fascinating, Draco was extremely annoyed.

Where the hell was Granger?

She had always been in one or two of the acts before her final finale. It was extremely odd for her to be breaking habit.

As the show was drawing to a close, Draco was extremely restless. Half watching the women sway to a slow beat, half watching the audience, he saw the strange girl from a few weeks ago carefully pick her way across the room. As she reached his table, she slowed significantly, but did not stop.

Tonya smiled at him slightly, and as she scooted around him, one of the flowers in her hair drifted to the ground.

"Whoops! How did that fall off?"

As she bent to pick it up, her hand alighted on Draco's, pressing a small object into it and hissed into his ear. "H's dressing room. After the show."

Message delivered, she stood up and apologized prettily to Draco. She then, with a casualness that Draco was surprised to see in a green girl, walked up to one of the waiters.

Glancing up at the stage, he noted that the girls had left and the lights were up. He cautiously opened his palm and looked at the object the girl had given him.

It was a pink orchid.

Eyes widening slightly at the soft gift, he wondered at the feelings of need coursing through him.

Why give him_ anything_? Why not just the message?

The questions he had running around in his brain had to be silenced, as the lights grew dim in preparation for the finale.

Draco felt his senses sharpen in anticipation. As he scanned the room, he noticed Nott leaning forward with a hungry look on his face. Mouth thinning, Draco thought of the implications of a power-hungry Theodore Nott interested in 'Helena.'

Shit. I have a bad feeling about this… 

His thoughts were cut off by the sound of a single drum, the harsh beats pulsing slowly, almost gently into the stillness. Draco drew in a deep breath and tried to quell his raging desire._ Idiot! Having a raging hard-on and I haven't even _seen_ her yet._

Grumbling quietly, but eyes still glued to the stage, he thought he saw a woman's body cloaked in the shadow. Quietly moving to the beat, shades of darkness lovingly cloaked her features.

_That had better be Granger_.

The torches slowly flared up to a dull glow, enough for Draco to ascertain the bright yellow hair and small, compact body. Draco drew a trembling breath.

She was here.

Smiling seductively, she slowly moved her hips to the beat of the single drummer. Shewasclad completely in a deep, forest green with flowers into her hair and braided into ropes that encircled her neck, wrists and ankles. She looked like a tropical forest nymph ready to lure some unsuspecting visitor into the jungle, never to be seen again.

As the beat started to escalate, her eyes flashed darkly and her hips moved in an increasingly complex rhythm. It was obvious from the way she moved that she was either much more familiar with this dance than the other girls, or was more skilled, because there was really no comparison.

In a duel between drummer and dancer, the drummer's fast hands would tap out a complicated rhythm that Hermione would unceasingly follow. Growing faster and faster, her bosom heaved and sweat glistened. Her body moving in perfect counterpoint to the beat, she was a flame that burned – passion incarnate.

Draco was held fast by the vision. This display of sheer athleticism must have been why Granger was not in the earlier acts. Realizing that his face must reflect the savage lust he was feeling, he momentarily jerked his attention away from the dance and schooled his face into a neutral expression. He would not be easily read! And he would not have any vulnerabilities when his enemies attacked.

His forced inattention was a momentary thing. Soon, his eyes were drawn inexorably to the stage and to Hermione. Still engaged in the dance duel with the drummer, face flushed, eyes lit, he was surprised to note that she looked happy. Almost as happy as she had been during those long ago days at Hogwarts.

He would watch them, the disgusting Gryffindors, and wonder how they could stand the constant cheerfulness. Granger was always one of the worst. Always laughing and smiling for no particular reason, her happiness irritated him.

Not that he really _noticed_ her or anything – justa passing observation.

Seeing her look so like her former self made his groin tug with half remembered fantasies on those long, lonely school nights. Often involving Granger, his necktie, and strawberries, he would wank in the secrecy of his bed, giving into urges that he thought were unnatural and dirty.

But he couldn't stop them.

Hermione was breathing hard, gasping for air as she struggled to keep up with the drummer. Unexpectedly, the pulse of the drums stopped. Jarred, Draco glanced over to the young man and noted him massaging his hands ruefully.

Hermione was still dancing.

To a beat only she heard in her mind, her hips and feet moved at a furious pace. Draco tore his gaze from those luscious curved and slowly razed her with his eyes. When he reached her face, he was surprised to see those burning orbs were locked on him.

An eternity passed.

And she was still dancing.

With a final flourish, eyes still meshed with his, she stopped.

One hand reached to him in supplication, the other gracefully bent over her head, body heaving, she looked at him. For a moment Draco thought he saw something… something different… something…

A man in the back clapped tentatively. Then another joined in. then it was the whole hall, hooting and hollering unlike the refined gentlemen they pretended to be.

Hermione wrenched her gaze away and pasted on a fake smile for her adoring fans.

Draco left the auditorium quietly, closing the door on the screaming mob.

000

Interestingly enough, Draco was in Hermione's dressing room before she was. Lounging on the sofa, long legs splayed out, fingers toying idly with the pink orchid, he eagerly watched the door for her arrival.

She entered soon after he did, still flushed in that clingy, revealing sarong and tiny top. One of her hands was efficiently working at the knot of that clingy piece of green fabric. The other was steadily working on getting the orchids untangled from her hair, resulting in one arm being thrown over her eyes.

She didn't see him.

He wasn't going to enlighten her.

Smirking slightly, Draco settled back to watch the show. _This one is much better than the one she put on for everyone else. I certainly hope she doesn't see me, as this might actually be interesting._

She turned slightly so she was facing the wardrobe, so her back was towards him. He looked at the long, pale expanse of exposed skin and smiled. He did so love a woman's backside. Granger's was one of the best he'd seen in awhile. _Ever, _his mind whispered.

Her horrid personality and less-than-desirable lineage ruined it though.

It was truly a pity.

Flowers finally extracted, she threw them carelessly onto the floor. As she turned her full attention to the sarong, she stepped on the flowers, crushing them and releasing their delicate scent.

Passively, the fragrance diffused to Draco's sensitive nose and the heady scent went straight to his head, working like a pheromone. His hands slowly balled into fists and his eyes closed briefly as he inhaled. _Orchids, jasmine, cinnamon… and something else._ _God, that's turning me on. _

As she calmly worked on the knot holding her sarong, he was hit by an uncanny feeling of déjà vu. He remembered that day, so long ago, a similar disrobing, and what had almost happened. Now, however, there was none of the sultry, teasing seduction of a striptease. Yet there was something irresistible about the casual way Granger was disrobing.

Finally, the knot slid open, and Hermione just let the cloth flutter down her body until it settled in a puddle at her feet. Draco's mind went blank. Around her thigh was a standard wand holder. But that wasn't what was making his lust explode into flames. She was clad in the smallest pair of black lace knickers he had ever seen. Not even attempting to cover her arse, they instead consisted of a tiny patch of lace covering the very top of her buttocks and a tiny black thread strung in between her arse cheeks.

Draco had never seen anything like it. In his lust-dazed mind he noted absently that the wizarding world would never invent something so blatantly sexual, so it had to be a Muggle contraption.

At the moment, Draco was ready to bless Muggles.

As her hand serenely moved up to the clasp of her top, a thin sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. With the same fluid efficiency, she undid her clasp and let the top float to the ground to join the flowers and sarong.

_Please take off the knickers_, Please _take off the knickers…_

As if responding to his mental entreaty, Hermione gently hooked her thumbs around the straps around her hips and efficiently pulled the microscopic scrap of cloth down her long, long legs.

She was naked.

This wasn't a fantasy, wasn't a dream, wasn't an apparition, she was actually _naked_ in front of him.

Draco was a boy when he was last in this position. But now he was a man, a man who knew what he wanted. Dirty blood or no dirty blood, his body craved hers. And he would have her. But he wouldn't do it the way he did before, expecting this wild, passionate creature to trust him enough to give herself to him instantaneously.

He would seduce her.

If he was right, she hadn't had the full focus of a man who wanted her. She had been involved with TheRebellionsince Hogwarts. Perhaps wizards had tried to seduce 'Helena,' but that undoubtedly would have failed. The entertainer was not her true personality – the know-it-all was. He wouldn't callously proposition her body, he would seduce her mind, enchant it, and then he would have her.

She casually slipped her wand out of the sheath strapped to her thigh and banished the errant clothing to the hamper in the washroom. Bending over slightly to unstrap the holster, her toned arse was prominently displayed.

Draco couldn't take it anymore.

He silently rose from his seat, and arrogantly glided to Hermione. She finally unstrapped the holster, and with a triumphant murmur, stuck her wand behind her ear to re-strap it onto her left forearm.

How convenient.

Drawing close - so close - to Hermione's warm body, Draco could feel her heat on his skin. God, he hadn't even touched her yet, and he was already as hard as a diamond! He took a silent, deep breath, praying for control. This would work. It had to.

Even though he wasn't touching her, her body straightened slightly, tensing instinctually from his presence. Steadying his shaking hands, he slowly caressed the crease of her buttocks with his right hand. Feeling her stiffen in shock, he kept his touch light, gentle. She started to turn around, but he grabbed her arm to hold her in place. She stilled suddenly, and he could tell that her active brain was plotting furiously.

Pressing close to her back, he could feel her soft, soft body against his, and he closed his eyes momentarily as a wave of feral lust swept through him with devastating force. _Focus, damn it, focus. _Thinking of his future goals and not his immediate gain fortified his resolve to slowly seduce her rather than throwing her on the sofa and sliding into her over and over…

He slowly bent his head to her ear, and raspily breathed into her ear, "Relax Granger. It's me."

If it was possible, she stiffened even more.

Draco smirked.

"Hush now," He softly whispered, "You wouldn't want anyone to know I was in here, would you?"

Draco could almost trace her thoughts by her body language. She was still stiff, but was preoccupied. To scream or not to scream?

Before she could decide, he lowered his hot mouth to suckle on the sensitive patch of skin underneath her ear.

Her breath caught.

Draco's grin grew triumphant.

_She wants me…_

The beast in him cried out to take her, to dominate her, to cover her in desire so thick she would never be able to escape. The practical Slytherin in him, however, urged caution. She desired him, yes, but he had to be careful lest he scare her away forever. And she would run forever.

Gently, so gently, he traced his tongue along the sleek muscles of her neck, then mapped out the shell of her ear. His hand rested lightly on her hip, and he stroked the fine skin there. As his hand skimmed up the length of her belly to cup the underside of her full breast, he could feel her relax against him.

_Yes._

Vigorously suckling her neck, his avid gaze looked at her exposed breasts. He must have given an audible groan, for she suddenly stiffened. Tearing herself from his hold, which had become lax as he gave into his passion, Hermione snatched her purple robe from the open wardrobe. Quickly pulling it on, Draco caught a quick glimpse of aroused nipples and flushed flesh before it was blocked from his gaze. Pulling his eyes upwards with an effort, he looked into Hermione's burning orbs.

Clutching the kimono tightly to her throat with one hand, her wand trained steadily on him with another, Hermione's eyes glittered dangerously. "What the hell do you want?"

"Do you really want an answer to that question?"

Hermione gave him a wan smile that didn't really reach her eyes. "I suppose not. But I do know that you should have said something! Tell me why I shouldn't hex your balls off right now, or so help me, I will actually lose my temper this time."

Draco gave his most charming smile, which he thought was pretty good under the circumstances. His body was on fire, he was being threatened with extreme pain, and a good length of Hermione's thigh was exposed to his ravenous eyes. He took a deep breath and said, "You sent me a message, remember? I was just following your orders."

Hermione slowly lowered her wand, but did not speak.

"What about 'Constant Vigilance' and all that rubbish?" Draco actually started to get angry. Thinking about all of the possibilities for danger channeled his aggressive, unfulfilled lust to a more convenient target. Hermione.

"Don't you protect yourself, you stupid girl? I could have been anyone. Doesn't your little rebellion teach you to set a simple ward?"

"Shut the fuck up Malfoy. You have no fucking clue who I am or what I have done."

"Don't tell me to shut it, you bloody cow! You have no idea what it was like living in Voldemort's court, sucking up like a sycophantic little bitch just to stay alive."

They stared at each other for an indeterminate amount of time. Cold gray and smoldering brown met and locked. Brown suddenly shuttered, doors locked tight on her inner thoughts.

Hermione took in a tight breath, "Well. I suppose now we can agree the both of us have changed. Neither of us are what we were. So let's get over it, shall we?"

Draco relaxed slightly and said, "That's complete rubbish – we won't be able to forget the past. Too much there." He bared his teeth in a feral facsimile of a smile, "But we can build upon the relationship we have and make something more."

"Good enough."

She stood up suddenly, and smoothly walked to her vanity. Taking her wand out of her sleeve, she waved it over one of the lacquered drawers on her left. Drawing it open carefully, she fished out something small that Draco couldn't quite see. Gliding up to him slowly, she suddenly grabbed his hand, opened his palm, and placed a small object into it. She then dropped his hand like it was poisonous.

Draco opened his hand and looked at the object. It was a small, plain ring. He raised one eyebrow quizzically in her direction.

Hermione's smile was cold as she explained, "It is a ring of protection. Twist it three times around your finger and I will be able to locate you anywhere. Transfigure it into something more appropriate if you like."

Looking at the thing, Draco almost wanted to chuck it into the Thames. He was in deep now, too deep to get out. He had to join The Fucking Rebellion. _Gods, isn't this rich. A Malfoy joining the doomed Potter fanclub. Not that I have much choice, though. Voldemort is definitely going to kill me. Fuck. Damned if I don't damned if I do…_

"You will not be privy to pertinent information just yet, but know that you are in grave danger from Nott and Voldemort."

"What? Hell, no! I am going to be privy to any information that will keep me alive."

"Excuse me, if I don't trust you just yet."

"If you know something that pertains to the saving of my life, you will tell me Granger."

"You'll find out."

Draco glared at her, "Damn right I will find out, from you!" He sighed and ran a shaking hand through his long platinum hair, "Granger… Please. It's the only life I have."

Hermione searched his face steadily for a long time. He could see her mind slowly coming to a decision. Taking a few short breaths, her teeth worried on her plump lower lip. "I shouldn't tell you this… but Voldemort is going to call you to court in a few days. And he will probably kill you."

Draco couldn't breathe. It was one thing to suspect that someone was going to kill you in the hazy future and quite another to know that your murder was coldly penciled into the calendar like a charity buffet. He sat down heavily onto the lounge chair, thoughts swirling.

"Malfoy… are you alright?"

Draco looked up into unfathomable dark eyes, "Yes, of course. Always am after knowing the date of my own homicide."

Hermione huffed indignantly and crossed her arms, "No need to get testy. I told you didn't I?"

"Yes. Yes, you did," Draco got up and started for the door. He had a lot to think about. Turning back slightly, he took in her slight form and beautiful, striking face. Emotionally drawn from suppressed desire and fear, he blurted out the first thought he had floating in his mind in a very un-Slytherin manner.

"Thank you."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock, then softened almost imperceptibly.

Draco turned back to the door, and turned the knob.

The door shut on a whispered "You're welcome."

000

A/N: Apparently, all of you think my story is fine as is. As a reward, here is a chapter only a few weeks after the last one! I actually have this story all plotted out now, so I will be able to update faster. Thanks to my beta Emily, who gave me some much needed criticism on this chapter. As it was written on my vacation, it wasn't my best stuff, let me tell you. And boo-ya for breaking 100 reviews! You guys rock!

**Review Responses**: Alright, I have seen this done before, and I thought I'd give it a shot to answer some longer questions that general notes wouldn't answer. Not everyone will be answered, only the longer reviews or good questions. Sorry, I am too lazy! I still love you all!

**Onion Layers: **I looove Eddings. I just re-read the series over Christmas, so I his version of the orb just sort of popped into my head. Heh. Hermione is in for a treat, let me tell you. Hope you liked this chapter, the break-in is next!

**Sunny June 46: **I am also very saddened by the abandonment of projects – it's fanfiction anyway people! People should write what they want to and not worry too much about 'canon.' Fanfiction is all AU anyway. A-hem. Sorry about the rant! Anyway, thank you so much for your lovely review!

**Your illusion: **I am so happy you like my story, and are happy with how it is. I actually wrote the part about Lav dating Ron before HBP, and was very surprised to see it in there! I always liked the idea of R/L better as a couple than D/Hr. Break-in next chapter, and as for the orb… well… that's a bit later. Sorry!

**Apathetica: **Haha, no the orb is supposed to be a bit confusing. Not exactly how a super-weapon should act, eh? It will be explained later, but it is safe to say that the orb, rather than being a simple weapon has a kind of… simple consciousness. Anyway, I know exactly what you mean about HBP. It doesn't ruin my plot, really, but I can see where your plot might be a bit confuzzled. But you are still writing, which is the important thing in the end!

**Lady Isis: **Haha, I agree. I try to make Hermione as in character as possible as I am tired of weak, whiny Post-Voldie Hermione. I am glad you are enjoying my story, and thank you for your kind words!

**1lorett: **Wow! Thank you for your extravagant praise, it is really too kind of you. I am so glad you are enjoying my story, and I am certainly glad you are spreading word of my story as I need all the feedback I can get! Thank you so much, your review really made my day.

**Sarah: **Thank you for your enthusiastic review! I like putting little details into my work, when I read a story I think that it makes it more interesting. I also liked the blowing up tree part just something silly my brain came up with. Neville/Millicent is also a favorite alternative couple of mine, so I like to make them happy. I also feel bad for Ginny, but I promise to make her happier!

**Ledophole: **This story was written as a response to those stories, then turned into a plot bunny gone mad. It's so much longer than I thought it would be! Hahaha, well, I am not rewriting chapter 3 by popular request, so I hope this relatively fast update (for me) makes you happy!

**Faeriemyst121: **You are the awesomest (not a word, I know ) beta ever! You deserve any praise I get for this chapter! It really sucked before you got to it! Love ya!

**Kyra4: **I am so flattered, you always leave me the best reviews! It totally made my day. Anyway, I was a little worried about the complete lack of Dramione interaction last chapter, but I hope I made up for it with this one! Notice they haven't done the dirty yet. I know you are happy with that! Building sexual tension is so fun. Anyway, I am glad that you think my details are canon, and that you like them. I love Luna and Neville/Millicent, and I also love how you caught my references to Star Wars! My boyfriend commented that my story is a bit like that, so I add a few references now and again. I re-read Eddings over Christmas and remembered why I loved it in middle school, so I made the orb quite similar to his. There will be a few differences, but its… personality… will be very similar. Not as threatening as the gunslinger series, but I did think about going that route. It was a conscious decision not to make this story as dark and angsty as most post-voldie-winning fics, and going with a threatening orb might lead me down the path of too much angst. Thanks again, and much love!

**Sarklover826: **I have never actually watched 'Alias,' but I hear that it is good. Hermione is quite like a spy in this, and I also get comparisons of her to Catwoman aka Selena Kyle from the 'Batman' comics. Thanks so much for your review!

**Also many, many thanks to:** Kate-Raspberry, Lee Swain, sarah, TheScarlettSecret, whogirl, mysteriouscharm, jip91, sln1987, Amortentia, Karina, young poet15, lightning8star, Lrnd, googlie-googlie-loo, Unspeakable May, natyslacks, and emmzi91


	8. Chapter Eight

** Vengeance**

**Chapter Eight**

**000**

**Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter. All rights and money belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**000**

**Vengeance is not the point; change is. But the trouble is that in most people's minds the thought of victory and the thought of punishing the enemy coincide. **

**Barbara Deming**

**000  
**

Dinner was surreal. That was the only way to explain it. Dining in the small semi-formal dining room with his mother as usual, Draco chatted to her about the inconsequential matters that came up during work, and she filled him in on the nitty-gritty of the estate and the small bits of gossip she had gleaned from her friends.

Everything was normal.

Nevertheless, he was going to die.

Shouldn't there be something… different? Shouldn't everyone be behaving differently, acting all dramatic and emotional? Shouldn't his mother sense his pending doom and throw herself sobbing at his feet, begging him to stop this insanity?

Despite these reflections, Draco was trying to be as attentive to his mother as he possibly could. It may be the last time he ever ate with her after all.

He also noted that the knowledge of his imminent death made him much more morbid.

Sipping on his after-dinner cappuccino, he mused on how everything tasted much more… potent today. Facing death, the heightened adrenalin, fight or flight. Quite exciting, really.

_ Good God._

_I'm turning into a Gryffindor.  
_

"Darling? Are you alright?"

Brought out of his musings by his mother's innocent question, Draco considered how to answer.

_Option one: honesty. 'No, mum. I'm scared fucking witless because the maniacal King that we serve is going to chop my head off within, oh, a day.' _

_Option two: hedge a bit. 'Ah, not really. Feeling a bit under the weather today.' _

_Option three: bald-faced lie. 'Yes, mother, of course I'm all right. My mind was on my project at work._'

As this was his emotionally fragile mother, he opted for the third.

Narcissa gave him a measuring look as she quietly sipped her wine. Finally accepting his words at face value, she turned to the waiting house elf to order coffee for herself.

As her head was turned, Draco carefully studied her profile. As elegant as she was beautiful, she was the epitome of what Malfoys looked for in their brides. He remembered her smiling face when he was younger, her devotion to his father. Their voices would mingle after dinner in the study, her soft soprano and his father's deep baritone a pleasant undertone while he played by the fire quietly. He would watch them as they sat closely together, the only times in his memory that his father's harsh face would soften.

Those were happy times.

After _he _ came back, his father never relaxed, never played with him or his mother. And his mother's smile grew more and more strained. And after the Last Battle, after Lucius' death, his mother suddenly looked old. Aging overnight, his youthful, beautiful mother started to show her age.

Looking at her now, Draco noticed the fine lines bracketing her generous mouth, around her pale blue eyes. He saw the gray shot through her blonde hair and cursed his father for leaving them. And he silently cursed the master that brought it about. He wondered if she would age even more after his death, if her beauty would fade completely away.

As she turned to him with a dazzling smile, he was reminded so strongly of his youth; he forgot his worries and smiled back. "Mother, would you like to retire to the parlor for dessert? I have not spoken to you for some time, and would like to… talk."

Narcissa's eyes widened in surprise, and her face transformed into one of happiness. "It would be my pleasure, darling. I'll just tell the Elves to stoke the fire, and arrange for dinner to be cleaned up."

Watching his mother's excitement over so small a thing brought a twinge of guilt. _Have I neglected her so much that such a simple thing brings her this much joy? _

Draco stood and strode over to where his mother sat, and gave her a playful bow. "My lady, may I escort you to the parlor?" He smirked as his mother blushed, and she let out a small giggle.

She smiled and batted her lashes coyly, "Of course, gallant sir."

Presenting her with his arm, she gracefully took it. Alighting to the parlor, he escorted Narcissa to her favored sofa. She took off her shoes, sat back and reclined elegantly. Smiling gratefully, she said, "Ahhh… I needed to lie down. That Parkinson woman is getting more and more annoying in her old age." She grimaced and stuck out her tongue in an oddly uncharacteristic gesture, "Still badgers me about your 'great loss' in not marrying her daughter, and how her beauty is wasted on the Crabbe boy. Ha! As if that little pug was good enough for my darling. Matilda always was the most pretentious priss of our year."

Draco smiled at her fondly. "You never did tell me much about your childhood mum."

Narcissa looked a little surprised at the question and quirked a half smile, "Where is all this curiosity coming from? You were never much interested before."

Draco squirmed a little under her sudden scrutiny, "Just humor me."

Narcissa leaned back father onto the sofa and tucked her bare feet under her before replying. "Alright, alright. I know when to keep my mouth shut."

Draco raised one elegant brow.

His mother looked at him wistfully, and shook her head. "You look so like your father when you do that…" Clearing her throat, she spoke quickly, "What would you like to hear about dear?"

"How about before you came to Hogwarts and met father? I never heard much about your family."

"Ah. So that's what you want." Narcissa grinned. "My sisters and I were so close… closer than most. We shared everything. Secrets, gossip, pranks, you name it. They were my best friends." She sighed quietly, "Then we went to Hogwarts…"

"And?" Draco prompted.

"We fell in love." Narcissa smiled wryly. "Blacks love deeply, darling. Very deeply. Even after all the worry and trouble your father gave me, I love him still. As much as when I married him."

"And my sisters loved just as deeply. Bella had her Rodolphus, and he was from a good family, so mother and father approved. You know how that turned out; she adores him and does anything he says, poor thing. But Andromeda… poor Andromeda. She fell in love with that Tonks man. And we most definitely did i _not /i _ approve."

"What happened?"

"He was a Mudblood, and we did all we could to keep her out of his hands, but she wouldn't have it. She loved him you see. And a Black in love can't be stopped. She eloped, and was subsequently disowned." Narcissa sighed dejectedly, "I… I have never seen her since."

Narcissa shook herself out of her reverie and smirked wickedly, "My turn, darling… Who is she?"

000

Draco felt like a drink. Maybe two. Or three…

Making his way through the wide, quiet hallways of the Manor to his study, he slammed open the door hard enough to leave a dent in the wood paneling. _In love? What the bloody hell is she talking about? I am most certainly not in love with anyone.  
_

Throwing himself into his chair dramatically, he slumped down with legs splayed out and arms crossed. Staring out the window at the hazy sunset, he brooded. He rather liked brooding. Very melodramatic and Slytherin in his opinion.

A house elf appeared with a crystal decanter of his favorite firewhiskey and a glass, and placed them on an empty spot on his desk. It was still covered with stacks of books from his earlier research, but did not feel any concern for finding out the thief ticked anymore. What was the point if he was going to die?

Draco supposed that was the question that bothered him the most: what was the point? What did he have to show for his life? He had followed the path his father had set out for him, had made his decision to protect his family the best way he knew how – to ally himself with the strongest wizard of his time. He did as any good Slytherin should do, he survived. It was what he did best. He had no regrets at the time… but now he was questioning his decisions.

Was it worth it?

Draco wasn't so sure.

He poured himself a shot of firewhiskey as he watched the rain in the gathering darkness. _This may be my last night alive... _He tossed back the shot of burning liquid, grimacing at the flames licking his esophagus.

Draco wondered if he could fight back, to kill Voldemort before he killed him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, _If perfect Potter couldn't do it, what chance do I have? _ Looking at the cases of magical objects lining the study, he wondered if anything in there was powerful enough to kill the seemingly indestructible King.

Perhaps. Too bad no one knew what the objects were for.

Draco stood up, poured another shot, and slowly walked to the large windows. As he sipped, he watched the bloody sunset through the light drizzle of rain.

_ Red at night, sailor's delight… well, isn't that ironic? _

He remembered the last time he had seen the sky this red. He remembered the last time he thought he was going to die…

000

**- Five Years Ago, Hogwarts -  
**

Draco was tired, so tired.

He had received a letter from his father that day, telling him in code that the appointed day for the final all-out attack was tomorrow. After being held in a state of suspense for the past few days, listening to all the rumors, he still couldn't believe it was actually happening. He was sure that if he actually stopped to think about it, he would be scared shitless.

Hence his restless activity. He had flown for hours, relentlessly pushing the Slytherin Quidditch team to exhaustion. He figured that if he tired himself out, he wouldn't be able to think about battle, about bloodshed, about losing, about death…

He still didn't want to go to his lonely bed, to lie awake and wonder what would become of him, what would become of his parents, his friends. So he was wandering the castle in the darkness, hoping to find some semblance of peace.

As he consciously kept his mind blank, he meandered listlessly through the halls, dragging his hand along the rough granite wall. Feeling the texture of the rock on the pads of his fingers, he marveled at the twinge of raw magic he felt coursing from it. _Living stone, permanent… Unlike me…  
_

Passing by the door to the Astronomy Tower, he noticed that it was open a crack. _Might as well go up… Nothing better to do.  
_

He silently trudged up the twisting staircase, feeling the familiar burn in his quadriceps as he reached the top_. I_ _might have overdone it a tad in practice today/i _Draco groaned quietly, i _I hope it doesn't get me killed tomorrow.  
_

He heard a slight shuffle of footsteps, and he whipped out his wand. He lunged, poised to strike… only to face the small, unmoving form of Hermione Granger.

Her hands loose at her sides, she made no move to go for her wand, no move to attack. Her dark, dark eyes locked on his face, waiting uncharacteristically passive to see what he would do.

He then noticed the stains of tears on her stoic face, the puffiness around her eyes.

Granger had been… crying?

He barely remembered Pansy shrieking in laughter about something this morning when he was preoccupied with his father's letter.

_ "Mudblood's parent's got it last night. The haughty bitch deserves it." Pansy's piggish nose scrunched up with delight, "Two less muggles – good riddance."  
_

One heartbeat passed. Two.

Granger's strangely lifeless eyes stared into his, begging him to ease her pain.

But his hatred was leached out of him by his fatigue, and he couldn't bring himself to end her life, to kill someone he had known for so long. Maybe tomorrow, but not tonight. Not now. Not her.

He lowered his wand.

She stood quietly and searched his face for a moment, then shuffled over to the wall to look unseeingly at the dawning sky. Draco, after a moment's pause, followed her.

They stood silently together, close but not touching, watching the sun rise over the horizon. Blood red, it lifted ponderously, achingly slow. As if it didn't want to dawn on this day.

_ Red in morning, sailors take warning…  
_

As he contemplated its terrible beauty, he turned to look at Granger, and watched the unceasing flow of tears flow down her stony face. The sunlight reflected off the trails, leaving streams of fire glittering on her cheeks.

He had never seen her look more beautiful.

Not in class, when she haughtily answered the teacher. Not when she slapped him, when her dark eyes snapped in anger. Not even when her body was heavy with desire, when he saw her dancing by the firelight. Here, her soul was naked to him, her pain raw, unshielded. He couldn't say anything. He didn't want to.

Slowly, as if of its own violation, his hand went to his breast pocket, and took out his silk handkerchief. Gently, his large hands he captured her chin. Delicately turning her face to his, he slowly mopped up her tears. Passively, she let him, closing her eyes as a wave of sorrow washed over her, fresh tears spilling over, clinging to her thick lashes wetly.

Cupping her cheek, he brushed them away, his heart heavy in sympathy. He couldn't possibly be feeling this way… for this Mudblood… But at this moment, he was just a boy, and she was just a girl, poised at the razor's edge of death. And he was tired, so tired of all the bullshit.

_ Just for now… I want to feel. Just feel.  
_

Tenderly, he clutched her close to him. His chin rested on top of her wild hair as he felt her body start trembling violently with her sobs as she finally stopped holding back her sorrow. He breathed in her quiet jasmine scent, and felt her tears gradually seep into the fabric of his shirt.

Silently watching the sun rise on the day that would change everything, he wished that the inevitable would never come.

000

** - Present, Malfoy Manor - **

Leaning against the frame of the window, Draco watched the last glimmer of red leech to inky black, watched the drizzle turn to heavy rain. If he was honest with himself that was the only night he had ever really acted on instinct. His father, Voldemort, himself – they had planned every other moment of his life meticulously.

It was rather sad that he had never felt free until this moment.

Musing to himself that he might as well try to sleep, as it would probably take all night just to close his eyes properly, he lifted his glass of firewhiskey to his lips to drain it.

_ SCREECH _

A heart-rending sound pierced the still air of the manor, causing Draco to drop his glass, shattering it on the floor. "What the bloody hell?" Draco shouted. _Is that… the perimeter alarm! Oh gods, they are here already! _

Quickly pulling out his wand, he ran to the cabinets behind his desk. With a quick " _Diffindo!" _He blasted apart theglass case holding the Malfoy Sword. Hefting it in his left hand, wand in his right, he smiled grimly. _Those fucking bastards won't take me without a fight. Not here. Not in my home.  
_

Nearly pulling the study door off its hinges, he ran through the dark corridors until he arrived at the main foyer.

"Draco!"

He quickly looked up to see his mother standing on the stairs. Clutching the throat of her peach silk robe, she looked small and terrified. Draco spoke as calmly as he could, "Mother. I need you to go to your room and stay there. Don't open the door to _anyone_ but me do you hear? Not even Bella. Kill anyone who comes through the door." Draco swallowed and closed his eyes, "Mum, I need you to be brave. Do this for me. I… I love you."

Not trusting himself to look at her, he turned and ran towards the sound of the alarm.

The attack was on one of the weaker areas of the mansion. Behind the sedate rose garden, there were no guardbeasts patrolling the immediate area like there were with the other portions of the manor. As with Hogwarts, Gringotts, and the Ministry, Malfoy Manor had anti-apparition wards all around the grounds. Unlike the other edifices, however, Malfoy Manor was unique a few regards- one of which being that there were anti-portkey wards as well. His ancestor, Axis Malfoy, had somehow devised a way to render portkeys ineffective within a one hundred yard radius of Malfoy Manor. A pity he never wrote down how.

As he approached the doors leading to the rose garden, he slowed down. Creeping slowly, making no sudden movements, he made his way to the windows bracketing the French doors. Peering outside, he could see that the alarm had triggered bright lights to appear all around the grounds, illuminating the yard all the way to the forest.

Squinting through the torrent, he tried to see the tell-tale black robes of the Death Eaters. _The wards on the house would kill anyone who had the intent to murder one of us, so that should take care of that problem. However, if there was anyone in the group that was just along for the ride, the wards might have been more lenient. Best be careful.  
_

Opening the door and stepping into the deluge of rain, his shirt soon became transparent and his trousers stuck uncomfortably to his legs. Looking around, weapons at ready, he searched for the intruders.

He saw no one.

Baffled, he scanned the walls and gardens for anything suspicious with sharp, icy eyes and saw nothing out of place. _Odd, the wards do not go off without reason. Father said the wards have only gone off five times in the history of the Manor.  
_

Under the pounding of the rain, he almost didn't hear it. A small noise really, but out of place all the same. A tiny groan of pain on his left.

Spinning around into a crouch, he bared his teeth in victory.

_ I have you now.  
_

Peering intently at the place where the source of the noise came from, he almost didn't see it, and if it weren't raining, he definitely wouldn't have seen it.

The faint outline of a body on the ground.

_ Invisible.  
_

Draco's eyes widened in shock. _The thief! The fucking thief is here! _

Suddenly, as if the figure sensed he had been caught, he leapt up from the ground, and began to run at breakneck speed for the forest.

Draco sprinted after him, chest heaving, long hair flying into his face, water dripping into his eyes, blinding his vision temporarily. The figure was like a ghost, blinking in and out of his sight, outline wavering with the ever-changing angles of the rain.

Spitting out a curse every chance he had, Draco kept missing the bastard as the figure weaved an erratic course through the roses. Tossing his sword behind him to gain more speed, he began to gain on the small ghost. He felt the burning in his legs as they neared the woods, as the figure neared freedom.

_ Never! _

Launching his long body into the air, he smashed into the thief's legs. Viciously latching onto an ankle, Draco yanked him onto the ground. Wrestling with the squirming bastard, he used his heavy body to cover the thief's smaller frame. Losing his wand in the brutal struggle, he took a punch to the face that had him tasting the coppery tang of blood.

Draco managed to get one of his arms through the bastard's legs, and was moving his other arm around the thief's chest towards his head to pin him down, when he noticed something important.

Breasts.

_ Holy shit. The thief is a fucking girl! _

Draco was stunned enough by this revelation to lose his concentration for a moment. Taking advantage of his temporary lapse, the thief viciously lashed out with her foot, hitting Draco in the gut. Pain lanced through his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him, and she quickly used her leverage to roll him over.

Hastily standing up, and giving him an extra kick in the side for good measure, she turned to sprint for the forest.

As she moved, Draco got a clear view of the outline of her form. Something about the figure, how the woman felt in his arms, how the body moved, was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

_ Click.  
_

"Granger?"

The apparition froze for a moment, then ran into the forest.

Sitting stock-still on the ground, Draco's gaze followed the figure in disbelief and shock. Then he looked at the ring on his right ring finger in wonder, and for the first time since Hermione had told him that Voldemort planned to murder him, Draco felt hope.

**000**

**Updated A/N 9/7/05: Well here is the new and improved version of this chapter! Much thanks to my beta, Emily, who outdid herself as usual. I am so happy with your response to it thus far, thank you so much! Next chapter I have decided to do the review responses again, screw (my other archives are much nicer and less invasive, to be sure) And as soon as my med school applications are done, expect to see more frequent updates! Ciao! **


	9. Chapter Nine

**Vengeance**

**Chapter Nine**

**000**

**Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story, all Harry Potter copyrights belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**000**

**At last is Hector stretch'd upon the plain, Who fear'd no vengeance for Patroclus slain: Then, Prince! You should have fear'd, what now you feel; Achilles absent was Achilles still: Yet a short space the great avenger stayed, Then low in dust thy strength and glory laid.****  
**

**Homer**

**000**

'Helena' had a headache.

And a backache. And just about an everything-ache, really. Oh, and a bruise the exact shape (and size, or so it felt) of Africa on her bum.

But to the manager of 'The White Devil' she had a severe headache. Therefore, she had an excuse not to practice today, but would have to be there tomorrow. That should give her enough time for the potion to heal the bruises, anyway.

_Damn, Malfoy's house is a bitch, _Hermione grumbled to herself as she stretched out wearily on her sofa, _Who could have known that it would hit back that hard? I thought I had all of the wards cracked. They must have a few that the ministry and Voldemort do not know about._

Hermione grabbed her vial of _Pain-Away! _ Potion and squirted a generous dollop onto her palm. As she massaged the lotion into her skin, she felt an instantaneous lessening of her aches. She signed contentedly and thought, _Only two more applications and the bruising will be gone, thank the gods. That would be difficult to explain._

Leaning back, she reached out a hand a flicked on the Wizarding Wireless. As she absently listened to the propaganda bullshit that filled the news, she took account of her injuries. Some bruised ribs, various pains along her right side, and a nasty bump on the head. Most of the injuries came before her little tussle with Malfoy, although that hadn't exactly helped matters much.

She wondered what sort of magic caused her injuries. She had researched Malfoy Manor thoroughly, combing all Ministry documentation available. Obviously, the Malfoys had managed to keep some vital information out of those records. She supposed it was an awfully sneaky thing for them to do, but she couldn't say that she wouldn't do the same.

She closed her eyes and smiled a little humorless smile, thinking of what Ron would have said about such an out of character move.The girl she once was would have balked at such an overt infraction of the law.

Now she thought it was smart.

_Only a fool trusts those in power._

It was a hard lesson for her to learn, but she had learned it. Oh, yes, she had learned it. Yet the price… she didn't like to think about the price.

As a syrupy female voice complained about the 'Mudblood problems' of America on the Wireless, Hermione buried her face into the soft cushions of her sofa. _Maybe I should go to the camp and check the roll. Maybe I should go to Beauxbatons and steal their roll as well, as Voldemort has to be going for the other European countries next. Now that Britain is secure, he could attack anyone. _Hermione groaned as she thought of all the things that she had to do to keep ahead of Voldemort, all those people whose lives depended on her… _My plan has to work. It _has_ to…_

Abruptly deciding that worrying would do her no good and that listening to Voldemort's garbage was just making her angry, she flipped the Wireless off. _I will just take a bath, and then nap for a while. Ginny did get me those Massaging Bath Salts from Austria for my birthday..._

"You aren't busy, are you?"

Hermione leapt off the couch at the sound of the voice, wand ready, and stiffness forgotten. She looked sharply at the entrance to the flat, and spying no one, systematically scanned the rest of the room. She turned towards the sound of chuckling, and found a familiar head grinning in the hearth.

"You're not supposed to Floo me here," Hermione hissed, "If we're caught, everything I have worked for is for nothing! How could you be so…"

"This is important," interrupted the voice.

"Is it important enough to warrant this idiotically blatant opportunity for exposure?"

"They are going to kill him. Tomorrow."

Hermione looked at the head in the fireplace for a long moment. She closed her eyes tightly as she drew an unsteady breath. When she opened them, all traces of softness, all evidence of her fatigue was gone.

"Tell me everything."

000

Draco started at the letter in his hands for a long moment. And another. And another…

_His Majesty requests your presence after luncheon to discuss the progress of the Gringotts case._

Short and to the point, it did not sound like an invitation to his death at all. Nevertheless, he knew how the King's mind worked. If he wanted to discuss the robbery under normal circumstances, he would have painfully activated the Dark Mark branded on Draco's forearm. This was formal and polite.

Draco was fucked.

Finally looking up from the letter, he met his Mum's worried eyes over the remains of their breakfast.

"Draco?"

He closed his eyes at the anguish he heard in her voice. She knew. Somehow, she knew the seriousness of the situation. He didn't want to do this to her. He had wanted to keep her safe, but the taint of the Dark King had reached into her world anyway. Damn.

Opening his eyes, he caught her blue ones and held them. "Mum… I want you to do something for me."

"Anything, darling."

"Stay inside the house no matter what. If I don't come back tonight, you mustn't come looking for me. Even if I seem to send a message telling you to meet me somewhere, _do not leave the Manor. _If I do not come back, this will be the only safe place for you. The Manor's wards are strong enough to keep the King's forces away. I hope."

His mother just looked at him in shock for a moment. He slowly saw tears fill her beautiful eyes as she realized that she might never see him again. Never see her little boy…

Suddenly she stood, knocking over her chair and flew to his side. Falling to her knees, she wrapped her arms around his legs and burrowed her head into his lap as she sobbed. "Stay, baby. _Please_. They can't get to you here. I know it!" Her grip tightened convulsively, "I can't lose you too. I can't. You're all I have left."

Draco ran his hand through her blonde hair, desperately trying to soothe her. His throat tightened at the sight of her grief, at the sight of her tearstained face. Their family was not given to expressing their emotions openly, so this… this shook him.

"Mother… This is something I have to do. I have to go- running will only make our problems worse." He desperately tried to explain something that he did not even understand himself. "If I stay here, you and I will be cut off from the world. We couldn't leave here, ever. Do you understand that? Forever is a long time, Mum. If I go now, there is a chance, albeit very slight one, that we may be able to live in peace someday."

Narcissa looked at him with tortured eyes, "Why you? Why do you have to be so brave?"

Draco tore his gaze from hers, looked at his hands, his ring, his responsibilities, and blinked back painful tears. "I don't know Mum. I don't know."

000

Draco did not Floo into Hogwarts as he would for a normal meeting. Instead, he Apparated into Hogsmeade an hour before he was expected in the castle. He hoped it would give him enough time to compose himself. He had thought about it carefully the night before. He just needed to review his plan, and then pray to every deity that he knew that it would work.

He had turned the ring three times this morning, calling for The Rebellion's aid. He had hoped that someone would take him away in time for him to 'disappear' silently, but no one had come for him yet.

He was not entirely sure they would.

As he walked through the desolate, deserted streets of Hogsmeade, he wondered why he was even here. He knew what was coming, at least in part. Unfortunately, he had witnessed a number of 'traitors' being punished for their transgressions against the Crown. It was something he only remembered when he was startled awake from night terrors, too scared to breathe.

He could have waited for The Rebellion to pick him up in a desolate place. Or even a nice one, just somewhere that he wouldn't be recognized. He always did fancy the Mediterranean. So why was he setting himself up for this?

Draco kicked a small stone lying on the road, and looked up into the slate-grey sky. _Looks like rain. How appropriate. _As he rounded the familiar bend in the road, Hogwarts came into view.

He paused for a moment, eyes still. He remembered other days, exactly like this, walking back from Hogsmeade. Greg and Vince with pockets full of sweets, Pansy yakking incessantly about who was taking whom to Madame Puddifoot's, and Blaise silently smirking at their pettiness. He wished he could steal a Time Turner to go back and escape from all of this madness…

No. That would be the coward's way out. Draco was so tired of being a coward. He had been a coward all of his life. His choices did not leave room for selfless acts of heroism, for nobility, for honor. In addition, for most of his life, Draco had thought those things were worthless, the inventions of mindless fools who weren't smart enough to think for themselves. He had fought as hard as a Slytherin should- enough to further his own ambitions, and no more.

Where had it gotten him? He was standing in the hills of Scotland, about to die. If he had sided with Potty and Weasel, would that have made a difference? If he had defied his family back then, would Voldemort be in power now? If he had the courage to take her hand openly in friendship, would he have been happy?

_If…If… If only… _

But here, in the now, there was only one thing he could do to set things right. Only one thing he could do so his family could survive.

He had to find out why that bloody orb was so important to Voldemort, and use it to destroy him.

It was the only hope he had left.

So here he was, a damn fool, sitting on Voldemort's doorstep like a good little puppy cringing in the anticipation of a hit. However, unlike that puppy, he had a defense. The ring was supposed to give him some protection from curses, not against the _Avada Kedavra_, of course, but most others. So he would be in pain, he supposed, but he could act it up a little, make it more convincing to the audience. It would be like Third Year again, playing up a minor injury.

In addition, Draco was a highly accomplished Occlumens, and knew a good deal about Legilimency. He would hide the true extent of his pain from Voldemort by keeping up his mental defenses. He knew that Voldemort would be using Legilimency to pick his brain about his supposed 'Rebel' affiliations. If he was lucky, Draco could skim a few of Voldemort's thoughts. If he wasn't, Voldemort would savage his mind. Draco could not let him succeed. There was too much information that Voldemort mustn't have, too much in his brain that was sacred.

And, of course, he had an emergency portkey. He hadn't gone _completely_ stupid.

_The sweet smell of Jasmine, the salty taste of tears, the bloody splash of a sunrise…_

He hesitated at the portcullis of the Castle, lost in the memories, and looked over his shoulder at the Forbidden Forest. _I could still go back. I don't have to do this. _Ghosts of memory chased him, of students in their robes, of Quidditch, of laughter…

He stepped inside.

Quickly, his feet led him to the Great Hall. He encountered no one on the way there.

As he was contemplating the strangeness of that fact, the door slowly swung open.

_Oh, _Draco thought absently, _everyone is already here. _

Indeed, lining the Hall were the Death Eaters in full regalia. Silent, forbidding, the eerie silver masks expressionless, they stood at attention. They were the deadly courtiers to an equally deadly King.

_Oh, hell. Motherfucking hell. I am so screwed. _

He had walked into his own execution.

Draco smiled.

Outwardly calm, he languidly strolled to the throne. He had dressed with care; his exquisite black robes flowed gracefully over a tastefully tailored suit, highlighting his elegant frame. His long, moon-pale hair was tied in a neat tail; his sharp features were hewn from granite. Perfectly polished knee-high Hessians clacked harshly in the silent room with every careful step.

As he approached, Draco's steel-colored eyes rose to the throne. Lounging indolently on the dais was Theodore Nott. As Draco watched, the corners of Nott's mouth lifted and stretched into a bitter caricature of a smile. His black eyes glittered with the promise of pain.

_Dark eyes gleamed with passion as she danced in the firelight, soft lips parted, waiting for her lover's kiss… _

Shaking off the nagging memory, Draco smirked at him.

Lifting his head, Draco's eyes traced the crimson-colored throne, avoiding the gaze of the one creature that could rip through his carefully constructed barriers.

Steeling himself, Draco raised his eyes and met orbs the color of blood.

_let me in you are mine you insolent boy let me IN!_

_No!_

Repelling the initial mental invasion deftly, Draco stepped forward smoothly, "I see I missed the memo about the dress code. Shall I have an Elf fetch my formal robes?"

Voldemort's lipless mouth contracted briefly, his eyes narrowed at Draco's impudent tone. "Is that how you speak to your King?" he hissed, "I will not tolerate insolence, boy."

"Forgive me, Your Eminence," Draco smoothly executed a deep bow and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes, "My investigation has been going so well that I forgot myself."

"Indeed?" Nott's full lips compressed upon hearing the King's interested tone. _I must distract him._

Nott rose awkwardly from his perch, and he strutted down the dais to Draco. His smaller frame circled Draco's lean one like a wary fly trying to land on particularly juicy cutlet of beef. He swiftly grabbed Draco's arm and sneered, "So you say, Malfoy, but what evidence have you to show us?"

Draco sniffed disdainfully, "None that I need to show you, Nott." His hand darted out and with Seeker's reflexes caught Nott's throat in a crushing grip. As Nott started to turn purple and struggled against his tight grip, Draco brought his face close to his. "You are not my king. Don't ever touch me again, you low-bred scum."

Voldemort's chilling laughter filled the hall as Nott fought to breathe. "Release my pet, Lord Malfoy."

Draco's gaze rose to meet Voldemort's scarlet one as he held Nott's throat fast. Then, as swifty as he had caught him, Draco flicked his wrist and Nott fell to the floor. Gasping for air, eyes bulging, he glared at Draco, delighting in his vengeance with every harsh breath.

Draco ignored him and concentrated upon the true threat. Voldemort.

"You know why you are here, young Malfoy."

Draco, heart beating nearly out of his chest, nevertheless managed to answer coolly. "On the contrary, My Lord, I do not. I was to give a simple report, but this seems to be a formal meeting." Hands spread innocently, Draco smiled engagingly, "You see, I am at a loss."

"Ah, that is what I always liked about you. You lie so prettily." Voldemort sighed in mock sorrow, "You always were an amusing pet. Such a pity you have to die."

Draco allowed his eyes to widen, enough to show shock, but not enough to convey real fear. _No weakness, _Draco thought, _no weakness._

"Your Excellency, what do you mean?"

Voldemort stared at him with cold disdain, "You begin to bore me, young Malfoy. Where are your Rebel friends?"

_you little shit let me IN you worthless piece of scum_

Draco parried the forceful attack with one of his own. Entering the mind of the shocked Dark King with skill as sharp as a scalpel, he grasped at a wild flurry of images- a map of Europe, Nott laughing sadistically, a dark, empty vault, an enormous chateau, and a large woman who seemed vaguely familiar bound and screaming in anguish, blood trickling slowly down her face.

"_Insolent boy! Crucio!_"

Draco's muscles instantly seized up in agony. Pain snaked down his spine from his skull, where it exploded in his legs, crushing them in a vice. His lungs were on fire, and breathing became impossible.

He had felt worse.

_The Dark King must be getting rusty, or this ring actually does work. It's a miracle, really._

Draco screamed his heart out as if he were dying.

_you useless THING let me in you fucking garbage_

Draco's mental wall wavered for a moment as Voldemort attacked his mind. He quickly sent feelings of incredible pain and suffering, hoping that Voldemort could not sense his true condition.

Then, suddenly, the pain stopped and Draco could breathe again.

_Curly, wild hair and a haughty voice, clear and strong…_

Draco grasped the memory fiercely, tucking it close, protecting it. _Voldemort will not steal my memories away. I will not be broken!_

"My boy, I know you are hurting," Voldemort purred. Rising slowly from the throne, he glided down to where Draco was panting on the granite floor. "You really must trust me. You trust your King, don't you? Tell me what the Rebels are planning."

Draco's raised himself until he could look Voldemort in the face. Breathing heavily, he smiled through clenched teeth. "My Lord, I have no idea what you are on about."

"Wrong answer!" Voldemort hissed, "_Diffindo!_"

It felt like hundreds of knives had simultaneously slashed him, ripping his flesh, spilling his blood onto the floor of the Great Hall. Draco screamed in pain- half felt, half feigned.

Draco had still felt worse.

Voldemort, as if sensing his disdain, lashed out with his foot, catching Draco in the ribs. With a sickening _crunch, _Voldemort smiled as he viciously kicked Draco over and over and over…

_let me in boy you know you want to just give in and it can all STOP_

This attack was more insidious. Instead of overt violence, Voldemort was subtlety cajoling him to give up, to slip into unconsciousness, to slowly float away…

_No!_

Draco looked at Voldemort with molten silver eyes, and with all the strength he could muster, Draco spat on Voldemort's feet.

As the vile mix of phlegm and blood slowly dribbled down one pristine boot, Draco held Voldemort's crimson gaze. His reptilian face, so alien, so expressionless wormed its way into Draco's soul. _This is what I was serving all of these years? This is the epitome of pureblood breeding? This creature?_

"Again, Draco, before I lose my patience. Where are the Rebels hiding it? Where is the orb?" Voldemort seemed to grow more and more agitated, and he viciously kicked Draco to punctuate his last question.

Lost in a sea of hurt, Draco somehow gathered enough strength to bolster his failing mental reserves.

_let me in let me in let me in let me IN_

Choking down his vomit, Draco gathered enough will to carefully slip into Voldemort's mind. Again, Draco was assaulted with mad visions of torture and pillage, but he wanted more. So he carefully, subtlety dove deeper to the thoughts beneath.

To the heart of the matter.

To the orb.

And felt… fear.

Voldemort was _afraid_ of the orb! And angry… _Angry at what? _Draco thought, _How can it hurt him? How can it destroy him? _

Slowly sinking deeper, Draco floated in Voldemort's memory…

…_Antonin Dolohov knelt and kissed his robes, and spoke quietly, "Your Eminence, I have found some information that I believe to be pertinent to your cause."_

"_Rise and sit next to me."_

_Doholov rose gracefully and seated himself. "My Lord, you have had me search the vaults for that… object… of unspeakable power, correct?" He seemed to note Voldemort's impatience, for he hurried on, "I believe I have found it." _

"_Indeed?"_

"_Yes. It is in a Gringott's vault of all places. And with it came a book."_

"_An instruction manual? How quaint."_

"_Sort of. More like a memoir, really, of some One-Eyed freak. But it says that it was used in some ritual. In that ritual, you could make a wish… Any wish you want!"…_

Draco was stunned. _A wish? Any wish?_ Unfortunately, in his distraction, Draco lost his iron control over his Legilimency and wavered slightly.

That was all it took for the Dark Lord to notice him.

_Shit, _Draco struggled to breathe, struggled to keep his mental defenses intact against the tide of rage emanating from the King. _I have what I want. I need to leave. Now._

He mentally commanded his hand to reach for the portkey in his pocket, but it wouldn't move. Nothing would move.

_Oh God. I really am going to die! _Draco closed his eyes slowly. _I'm sorry mum…so sorry._

Voldemort was not called the Dark King for nothing. He knew the secrets of Dark Magic, how to bend to one's will, how to be powerful. The unforgivable curses were powered by dark emotions, _Avada Kedavra_- hatred. _Imperio_- the desire for control.

_Crucio_- Sadism.

And no one was more sadistic than Voldemort. No one.

"_Crucio!_"

He shrieked now, with real agony, with real feeling. No more pretending. He felt like his bowels were ripped out, being chewed by wild dogs. His eyes were burning, melting, dribbling down the sockets. His bones were pulverized, one by one, as he shouted his voice hoarse. He screamed until the one thought he had was to keep the barrier. _He will not rape my brain. Will not. Will not. Willnotwillnotwillnot will… not… will…_

Draco felt Voldemort rip into his mind, felt as he tore into his memories, into his soul. His oily fingers were peeling back the layers of his awareness like an onion- deeper and deeper. Brutally examining each recollection and tossing it away, viciously raping his consciousness.

_You bought me a broom Daddy? Oh, thank you!_

_Ew, Greg! Girls are icky. How can you like Millie like that?_

_Stupid fucking Potter, always getting my glory. I'll show him._

_Oh, Mummy…I miss him so much._

Draco lost ground, bit by bit, his soul slowly stripped naked before the vile creature assaulting his brain.

And Voldemort was laughing. Sharp, white, teeth gleaming- predator's teeth, teeth that rip throats, tear flesh…

The pain stopped, but Draco did not notice. His mental wall still intact- barely.

Vaguely, he heard screaming, heard loud noises, but he did not care.

Drifting in and out of pain, Draco desperately tried to hold his mental wall with what little strength he had left. Body aching, tensed to anticipate the next assault, the gentle brush of kind fingers through his tangled hair nearly sent him into unconsciousness.

The scent of Jasmine floated into his nostrils, and he thought he might be dying.

"Oh gods, we didn't get here in time. What have they done?"

Draco knew that voice, and knew he was hallucinating. Strong and horrified, it had been etched on his soul for a long time. He tried to open his eyes and failed, but managed to wheeze. "You… you came."

"Yes. Yes I did. Now hush, you're safe."

With those words, Hermione grabbed his hand tightly, and triggered her portkey. Voldemort was later furious to find Draco had seemingly disappeared- there was no evidence of Draco's presence in the Great Hall of Hogwarts except for the crimson pool of blood congealing on the floor.

000

**A/N: **Well, here is the slightly late chapter nine! Don't kill me for doing this o poor Draco, I love him. Really. (pets Draco's pretty hair) But I am sick of the 'dancing arc' as I like to call it, and am moving to a new phase of this story- one in which Draco and Hermione can actually spend time together! Shocking! Thanks so much to my lovely beta Emily, she is the Grammar Witch! My very own Hermione to fix my horrid errors. Also, thanks to the lovely Lorett for reading for OOCness- she really gave me the confidence to post.

**Review Responses: **I have decided I don't care if these are 'legal' or not, so here are your questions answered! (Somewhat)

ThingsMakeMeHappy: Thanks for your praise! I am so happy you are liking my story. I also like nosy!Narcissa, and I always like a little backstory to go with my characters, so I felt that the who Black thing worked pretty well. I also felt bad for Draco hitting her, but in his defense, she was trying to break into his house, and he didn't have a clue it was her! (love your penname by the way)

Sunny June 46: Thank you so much for your review! You always are so kind to me and my pitiful attempts at writing! I had looked forward to writing that flashback since the first chapter of the story- took so freaking long for me to get there though. I rather think that Malfoy is a consummate self-preservationist (which he gets a bit sick of, as you can see in this chapter) and will take every opportunity for leverage/escape/power possible. I still love him though! I also love Narcissa, especially in HBP- I knew she wasn't heartless! Sorry that this update wasn't as quick as I wanted… I was having problems with the last scene. Hope to update sooner in the future! Love!

Lorett: As always, you leave such through reviews darling! You miss nothing! I am so glad you liked the flashback, I tried to get it as in character as possible, make it as desperate as possible. And I like layers! Yay for complex characters! As for the whole number of reviews thing, I like that I get as many quality ones as I do- so many people with such lovely, helpful things to say! Erhm, sorry that there was no snogging here, but I am moving into a new phase of the story! More action, more romance- whee! Thanks again!

Aleasha: Thank you so much for your input on the Greek. I am not Greek, so I took my Classics professor at his word. Obviously he was wrong! I will go and change that. I am glad you are enjoying my story!

fraulindemann: Such kind words! As good as the books? I am blushing! I am curious though, what can't JK Rowling afford to put in her books? I don't know! Sorry for the long wait, I had problems writing this chapter, but I will try to update faster in the future.

Fire Magus: ooo, I love your name! Hahaha, I didn't mean for the Sword to be funny, but as you said, if you look at it a certain way it is quite amusing. Very arrogant of those Malfoys! Thanks for reading and reviewing, I always appreciate it!

Enchanter: Thanks so much for you kind words! I am glad you liked the last chapter. I am glad you thought Draco seemed more human, that was what I was going for. Less of the caricature JKR portrays him as (it was less in HBP, I'll grant you) and more of a regular person. An arrogant person, but a person nonetheless! I am also glad you liked my closer- it just sort of flowed right, and I am happy you found it effective. Thanks again!

Sarah: Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story! I am glad you lied the last chapter, Narcissa is one of my favorite characters too and is very underused. I was waiting for Draco to figure out Hermione was the thief for… forever! It was really getting annoying to write someone who was so clueless! Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, and thanks again.

sailoryesl: I have decided not care about the whole review response thing, as you can see! Thank you so much for reading my story, I am so happy you found it original! I try to be original, but it is hard in this fandom. But I have some ideas that just need to get out, you know? I will definitely see this fic out to its conclusion! (I already have it outlined- yay!)

Scyco Sphinx: Your review really made my day! I am so glad you liked the family theme- I don't think that many stories include this dynamic, and I think it is very important. I am also happy that you liked the last sentence, and it wasn't too cliché! Whew! I am always so worried about that.

apathetica: Thank for your review! I always appreciate it when authors I respect stop on by! Anyway, as I see it, Draco was despairing because he felt that Voldemort was going to kill him no matter where he ran, and that the Rebellion really had no power. Now that he knows that Hermione is the thief, he knows that they have the orb, and that they are more competent than they seem to be. Orbpower, and Draco likes power! Does that make any sense? It is explained a little better in this chapter. (I hope!) Thanks for reading!

LittleBlackSwan: Yes, Hermione has a mask like spiderman! That's exactly how I imagined it too From what I can tell, the cloth is see-through, otherwise how would Harry be able to see anything when he's running around on his adventures? His face is obviously invisible, and he can see. Hence, a cowl-like thing for the suit would work. (at least in my mind) Keep the questions coming, I love them!

burgundyred : Wow, I love your stories! You updated, yay! Anyway, I am glad that you are back into fic, and I know how stressful school/applications can be. Take your time! And as an author, you know reviews of any length are appreciated. I am glad you are enjoying this story, it has been a blast to write. Thank you so much!

Destiny's Darkness: Mwahahaha back at you! I have had that experience happen to me as well. (Are we reading the same stories, perhaps?) Being better than expectations is always a nice surprise, and I am glad I was up to the challenge. I am so happy you like my Hermione. I was sick of seeing her as a weakling, as I have never seen her that way, and it seems that others were sick of it as well. Her pain and suffering are real… and I try to convey her anger in a realistic manner. Thank you so much for telling me I am doing something right! And the invisibility suit? I am a clumsy person, and as I read the books, I always thought I would trip over the thing. Hence- the suit! More mobility, no snagging worries! I hope you keep reading, I'll keep writing!

natyslacks: I am glad you are enjoying this! I like diverse fics as well, so I try to incorporate all sorts of elements- romance, humor, mystery, angst. Life isn't one of those things individually, so why should my fic be that way? Thanks again!

rembrandt: I agree with you. I was looking and looking for a realistic poet-voldie-winning fic in which Hermione was in character and they were few and far between. I was surprised to say the least! So I decided to write one. I am so glad that you are enjoying it. One question though: who is Gary Stew?

**Thank you, Thank you, thank you to**: EquestrianBabe, sarklover826, I'm-a-loser-and-proud-of-it, seez, F-chan1, Outsane , Marti Is So Cool, DazedPanda, Unspeakable May, mysteriouscharm, Young poet15, Lady Isis, windii, Dubroskaia, distorted fallacy, DanzaPalooza**You guys are fantastic!**


	10. Chapter Ten

**Vengeance**

**Chapter Ten**

**000**

**Disclaimer –I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story, all Harry Potter copyrights belong to J.K. Rowling.**

**000**

**Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the slain, Had locked the source of softer woe, And burning pride and high disdain Forbade the rising tear to flow**

**Sir Walter Scott**

**000**

"… God! What happened to him?"

"I think his ribs are broken and his lungs have been punctured, not to mention what Voldemort has done to his mind. We need a Mediwitch, _now_!"

Draco was feeling pretty good. If, of course, "good" meant that blessed state where his poor synapses were so fried that he couldn't feel anything anymore. Nevertheless, that meant no pain, so it was fine with him. He could sink deep into this feeling and drown in the numbness.

Emptiness was looking better and better.

He couldn't remember what he was fighting so hard to keep. He couldn't remember why he had suffered. His mind was a mass of jumbled, broken puzzle pieces, and he was too tired and damaged to put them back together.

He had tried to open his eyes a few times since he was brought to this place, but was blinded by pain whenever he tried to open his heavy lids. It was just as well. He was going to die anyway, so he should at least minimize his pain.

"We're losing him! He's going into shock. _Ennervate_!"

Draco felt a bolt of energy flow into his tired body, waking up his sluggish systems. He didn't like that. He just wanted to go to sleep…

A strong voice next to his ear spoke, "Come on Malfoy, don't give up now! You are an annoying, stubborn prick. You are too arrogant to die like this, beaten by that vile scum. Show some pride! Fight! I know you can…"

Then, quieter, "You have to… I don't want someone else to die, even if it is you."

He paused in his descent. He knew that voice. How? He didn't know. But it arrested him nonetheless, that voice. So he must know it, shouldn't he?

"Please, Draco. Please."

…_Please…_

There! In his pain-hazed mind, he could blearily remember that voice saying that to him. Only once… but it was important. Why couldn't he remember?

He struggled to remember and tore through the spell lacing his brain. He tore through his apathy- to find the will to live, the will to survive, the will to _remember. _

_Liquid, dark pools shimmered with desire as her lips opened softly…_

Almost… so close, so close. How did he know that voice? Pain wracked his brain, tears of agony ran freely down his face, but he didn't care. He had to know.

"Please Draco."

…_Please…_

A girl he once knew, but didn't really ever _know_. A dance darker than his wildest fantasies. A gaze haughtier than that of most well bread purebloods. A night of mutual comfort which he couldn't forget, no matter how he tried.

_Granger. Hermione Granger... I remember now. _

"He's stabilizing! Someone hold him while I set his bones."

Draco slammed full force into unconsciousness, and felt no more pain.

000

Draco blearily opened his eyes while a pair of kind hands fed him something vile tasting.

Weakly, he batted at the hand, "Don't… want it…"

One of the gentle hands stroked his hair soothingly, while the other firmly pushed the spoon into his mouth. That familiar voice spoke kindly, "But you need it Draco. Now be a good boy and hush."

Draco tried to focus, but could not. All he could make out was the blurry outline of his nurse. "Alright… just… this… once…"

As the hands smoothed his hair from his face, Draco fell back into darkness.

000

Draco opened his eyes without feeling pain. Anywhere. For someone who should be dead, it was quite an accomplishment, he mused.

He was quite comfortable, wherever he was. Draco stared at the ceiling for a moment, cataloging his twinges of discomfort. Surprisingly there were few and most of them were minor. Whoever had taken care of him had worked a bloody miracle. He had seen Voldemort's torture victims. None of them had survived intact, either mentally or physically.

Draco moved onto his side to get more comfortable, when he noticed something relevant.

Hermione Granger was in his bed.

_Well_, he reflected whimsically, _I suppose it technically isn't _my_ bed_. _But that's not the point. What the hell is she doing here?_

Dark, wildly curling hair spread out like a halo around her face, the fake blond color gone. She looked like a picture of complete exhaustion. Dark circled ringed her eyes; her hair was limp, her skin sallow, and her cheeks thin and hollow.

She looked beautiful.

He didn't know how long he spent looking at her but soon, as if she felt his gaze, she stirred. Her dark eyes opened, and his stomach clenched at the softness, the worry, he saw there.

"Granger…"

He could pinpoint the exact moment that she knew he had recovered coherence. Her expression morphed from one of soft concern, to worry, to shock in the course of seconds.

"Granger…" Draco rasped, voice hoarse from disuse, "You look like crap."

He could see the shock drain out of face, to be replaced by almost comical anger. "You… you!"

Draco smiled with real humor, "Me? Me?"

Hermione leapt from the bed, and quickly donned a fuzzy pink robe over her thin pajamas. "You can go to hell! I spent all of this time taking care of you…" She paused for a moment, gathered a deep breath, and continued in a softer tone, "How are you feeling?"

"Better. But I would feel fantastic if I could have a shower."

"Fine. It's through the door on the right."

Draco smoothly stepped from the bed, unconscious of his blatant nudity, and calmly walked to the door.

Behind him, he heard Hermione's shocked gasp and smiled.

The hot shower felt like it was slicing off years of fatigue and pain. He heard Hermione step in, but couldn't see her through the curtain.

"Here are some clothes."

Draco smirked.

When he finally stepped out and got dressed, he felt like his old self.

Hermione, still in her fuzzy bathrobe, darted past him into the bathroom as he exited it. Through the door, he could hear her mutter, "That idiot had better not have used all of the hot water."

As Draco sauntered into the tiny living room, his eyes were strangely drawn to the mantel of the fireplace. He absently noted a few decorative plants, two framed wizarding photos, and a small pink rock sitting on a red velvet pillow…

_Hold on a tic. She couldn't be _that_ stupid… could she?_

He surreptitiously listened for the shower. Still running. Good.

He quickly strode to the fireplace, eyes only for the orb. As he approached the thing, it glowed a soft, welcoming pink. _Why is it just sitting here? It matches the description that Voldemort gave me when it was first stolen. _Draco shrugged, _Ah, screw it. That wish is mine!_

Draco's hands darted surely towards the small stone, and with Seeker's reflexes, he grasped it firmly.

What he wasn't prepared for was the stone itself.

Images, thousands of images of his life flashed through his brain with dizzying speed. He tried to form a barrier to it, tried to fight it, but it casually swatted down any defense he tried to mount. However, unlike Voldemort this mental assault was… gentle. As the orb probed his brain, he felt comforted, as if he had found a friend.

Soon, however, the orb seemed to be done. Having gone over the events of his short life, it sat on the mantel glowing happily. Draco didn't know how he knew that it was happy, but somehow he did. He stood stock still, hand outstretched, still grasping the thing on its perch. He was shocked. _What the hell did that thing just do to me?_

Absently, he heard a noise from the direction of the bathroom.

The orb glowed briefly, and then zapped his still hand with a burst of red energy.

"Ow! Fucking thing!"

That was how Hermione found him. Draco was glaring at the orb, holding his injured hand and the orb was glowing apologetically.

Hermione burst out laughing.

000

As they walked through the camp, Draco noticed the furtive glances thrown in his direction and the subtle tensing of battle-readiness. In all honesty, he liked it. Even after being beaten nearly to death, he was still intimidating.

He looked around the small village and noted the complete isolation. Deep in some obscure mountain range, Draco couldn't see any other villages, and heard no other sounds of civilization, wizard or muggle. He supposed he could ask his reluctant guide about their current location, but she probably wouldn't be very forthcoming about it. He wasn't hurt- he wouldn't trust someone in his situation either. Hell, he probably wouldn't have gone as far as they did.

_Yes, you would, _his mind whispered, _if it was the right person…_

Shoving wayward thoughts down into his subconscious, he brought his attention back to the matters at hand.

To meeting the surviving members of The Rebellion.

Draco already knew who they were, of course, having been responsible for investigations regarding the Rebels, but he hadn't seen some of these people in years, and he was intensely curious as to how they fared.

He saw the She-Weasel from a distance. She took one look at him and ran off. Strange.

Looking down at Hermione, he saw that she was staring in the direction Ginny had gone with a sad expression on her face.

As they moved along, Draco began to notice something odd. There were more children than adults in this camp. The Rebels couldn't have possibly have had this many children in such a short space of time, so where were they coming from?

They came upon a grassy meadow, where Loony Lovegood was sitting with approximately twenty children, ages ranging from about eleven to thirteen. She saw him as they approached and waved and shouted from across the field, "Hullo, Draco! My, I am so glad you are feeling better. Is Hermione taking good care of you?"

Hermione turned a bright red, and looked mad enough to spit nails at that comment. She grabbed Draco's arm, and, with only a perfunctory wave, steered Draco towards the other end of the village.

Draco looked at the field pointedly, "What are all these kids doing here?"

Hermione stopped suddenly and sighed, "You'll find out anyway, and you are bound by blood not to betray us… so I suppose it is alright for me to tell you." She took a deep breath and said, "Those children are the muggleborns of Britain."

Draco blinked, "Come again?"

"They are in danger as long as Voldemort and his Empire live. So we educate and give them shelter here."

Draco reeled from this surprising news. The Mudbloods were in the Rebel camp? They would have a veritable army as soon as they grew up! _Perhaps these fools aren't as weak as I thought…_

As he was processing this new information, he felt himself smack into someone. Automatically putting his hands out to steady them, he looked up to stare straight into the eyes of Millicent Bulstrode.

At Hogwarts, Millie was always a Slytherin through and through. She schemed like them, played like them, and was a pureblood like them… Nevertheless, she didn't hold to the same beliefs that they did. Surprisingly, she was brave enough to stick to her ideals and fight for the side she believed in.

Too bad they lost.

As he looked at her now, he was struck by how happy she looked. She had never been beautiful, per se, but in the past few years, it seemed that she had grown into her strong features and attained a statuesque handsomeness.

He heard someone politely clear his throat. Longbottom was looking at them timidly, juggling an increasingly upset infant in one hand and an empty bottle in the other. "Erhm, hate to interrupt, but Millie dear… er, I think Francine needs to be fed. And since it seems we are out of bottles, well…"

Millicent shook herself out of her stupor and inclined her head regally to Draco. Gently taking hold of the baby, she swiftly walked towards a nearby bench, scolding Neville the entire way for not telling her sooner.

Draco blinked at Hermione, "Well that was… surreal."

Hermione chuckled a bit and said, "I can see that. They got together about two years ago, and are perfect for each other really. It's rather sweet."

'_Sweet' is not the term I would use, _Draco thought disgustedly, _appalling is more like it._

As they walked along the neat row of shops and houses, Draco noticed a vaguely familiar young girl with neon yellow hair rushing towards him.

_Oh, yes. That is that talkative bint from the club. It figures that she would be a part of this nuthouse. _

The girl stopped suddenly, almost tripping over her feet in her excitement to see him. "Hey Draco! Do you remember me? Are you feeling better? Are you here for good?"

"Erhm… yes."

"Oh, bloody fantastic!" Tonya snaked a glance at Hermione, "Hey Hermione, can I tell him yet? He's bound to us right?"

Hermione nodded and the girl gave a big grin.

Suddenly, her features grew and elongated. Her hair was no longer a blinding yellow, but a deep black. Her nose lengthened a bit and sharpened, her face went from round to heart shaped, and her eyes grew larger and changed from a murky blue to a dark brown.

She smiled with suddenly full lips, "Recognize me now?"

Draco felt like the wind was knocked out of him, _A Metamorphmagus? _He squinted at her thoughtfully; _She looks familiar, almost like…_

"Andromeda? No… Nymphadora?"

"Hey cuz. And don't call me that. I go by Tonks."

"Ever to my disappointment." A man chuckled behind Draco, and then said, "Nymphadora is such a lovely name, my dear. Moreover, Tonks isn't even your last name anymore. Why do you insist on using it?"

Tonks smiled to a person over Draco's shoulder, "It would be too confusing to start calling myself 'Lupin,' now wouldn't it Remus? And besides, it would be awfully confusing with the two of us."

_Lupin? _Draco closed his eyes in horror, _Please tell me I heard that wrong._

Turning around, Draco saw his cousin enthusiastically kissing Remus Lupin.

_I am related to Remus Lupin. Oh God. I think I threw up a little in my mouth. _

Draco felt a bit dizzy at seeing his cousin suck face with his former professor, and he was sure the blood drained out of his face. Hermione looked at him with a bit of concern.

"Erhm, I think Draco needs to rest. I'll talk to you later Tonks."

Hermione closed the door after they entered her little house, the heavy scent of lilacs drifting around them. Her eyes darted to everything but him, and finally focused on the mantel over the fireplace.

_She's nervous. _Draco felt a momentary twinge of triumph in his gut. _At least I'm not the only one who feels that this situation is surreal._

She cleared her throat and spoke softly, "You can stay here if you want. I am never here anyway. It's either that or the boy's bunkhouse, and I am sure you wouldn't like it there. Besides, you'll probably scare the students' silly."

Draco smirked, "I am rather… intimidating."

Hermione's head snapped up and her eyes blazed as they searched his. Draco smiled innocently as if the thought of a sexual innuendo had never crossed his mind.

Grimacing slightly, she gestured towards the chair by the fireplace, "Sit. You need to rest. You aren't fully recovered yet."

"Alright, Madame Pomfrey."

"Don't get fresh with me."

"Yes, Madam!"

Hermione sighed as she gracefully flopped onto the sofa. "Moving on from this mature conversation, I need to ask if you are positive your mother is safe. I don't want any more innocents killed because of this fight."

Draco looked at her intently, all mockery gone from his face, "As long as she doesn't step outside the house, the wards on Malfoy Manor should hold."

"Interesting." She pursed her lips thoughtfully, "You wouldn't be inclined to tell me what those wards are, would you?"

"You wouldn't happen to be my long-lost sister, would you? Only family knows all of the secrets of Malfoy Manor."

"I thought as much." Hermione smirked, "Had to try."

"Understandable. Can I send an owl to my mum?"

Hermione hesitated, and then spoke in a quiet voice, "No… I don't think that would be wise. We can't let any indication of your whereabouts leak to Voldemort."

"Fucking hell, Granger! It's my mother! She has to be out of her mind with worry by now!"

Hermione glared at him, "Don't you think I know that? You are so selfish, always thinking of yourself. What about the hundreds of children in my care? Are you willing to sacrifice all of their lives just to give your mother some peace of mind?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to say yes, to say that the lives of Mudbloods didn't matter to him at all, but the look in her eyes stopped him. Her eyes, bruised from pain, begged him to say it, to make him into the monster, the villain again. She needed him to be evil, so that it would be all right to hate him, so that she wouldn't have to feel those uncomfortable emotions anymore.

He wasn't going to give her that satisfaction.

Draco simply smiled without humor and said, "You know best. I'll wait until you think it's safe to contact her."

Hermione silently looked at him, shocked. He could see it in the widening of her eyes, the way her pupils contracted. He let herself put up her walls and gather her defenses.

Enough was said. He had given her something to think about, at least.

Draco mildly continued, "What happened the day I spoke with Voldemort anyway? I was under the assumption that these rings send an instantaneous distress signal."

Hermione took a deep steadying breath, and focused on the simple question instead of her whirling thoughts, "According to our intelligence, you were going to be called to court formally, and as I found out, someone with intentions of getting into your house ends up getting bitch-slapped. So I thought you were relatively safe for the time being." Hermione smirked, "You owe me for that by the way."

"I'm not the one who decided to go breaking and entering without all of the pertinent facts."

"Alright, alright… But I have to ask… Why did you leave?"

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair and thought carefully before answering. He decided to tell her part of the truth, at least the more Gryffindor aspects of it. He still hadn't decided how to use his knowledge of Voldemort's thought to his best advantage. "I decided to go because I was sick of hiding, sick of bowing to a megalomaniacal pig."

Hermione nodded her head briefly, "Understandable. Unfortunately, because of that we didn't get our resources in place in time to prevent you from coming to serious harm. I'm truly sorry for that."

"It turned out alright, I suppose." Draco sat back in his chair and made himself more comfortable, "So… How did you save me?"

"We have a way of knowing where people are positioned exactly in Hogwarts and its grounds. Tonks and Shacklebolt went to a deserted area of the castle and gave me the distraction I needed to pull you out."

"In front of Voldemort? That's pretty damn gutsy."

Hermione gave him a small half-smile, "You know what? That may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Her dark eyes turned inwards for a moment, then she refocused on his face, "Alright then. I'll be off."

As she turned to leave the room, Draco felt a momentary burst of irrational panic. She was leaving him alone in a camp of people who despised him?

"Wait!"

As she turned around, Draco had no idea what he wanted to say. Nevertheless, he knew that he had to say something…

Hermione was waiting, watching him with her penetrating eyes.

"Erhm… Thank you. Thanks for saving my life."

"You're welcome."

000

The nights were long, but the days were longer.

Now that he was healed, Draco's days were left empty. Not trusted enough to do anything of importance, he was left to his own vices. At first, he was happy with this arrangement and enjoyed the unexpected extravagance to do whatever he wanted for the first time in his life.

He luxuriated in his free time- wallowed in it.

And was bored to distraction.

Hermione's little house didn't leave much in the way of entertainment, although it was comfortable. There were scads of books, obviously, but he couldn't read all the time. He wasn't a bookaholic like Granger. That stupid orb just sat there, glowing merrily, but as Draco did not have the burning desire to be zapped again, he didn't touch it. When he found himself looking longingly at the classes of Mudbloods, wishing to teach them, he knew he had to do something.

Every evening, supper was served in a large mess hall in the center of the camp. Rather like the Great Hall of Hogwarts, it was set up with four tables. Unlike Hogwarts with its strict House divisions, however, the students here had no hesitation about drifting between tables and class year.

Draco had wondered at this the first time he sat to eat with the rest of the camp. Surely they could have divided the students into houses? As he sat at the least crowded table by himself, he set his face in his haughtiest expression, causing everyone in the vicinity to shrink away from him.

Then, his annoying cousin sat next to him, quiet husband in tow, and all opportunities for quiet contemplation were gone as fast as a cake in front of Crabbe and Goyle.

As Draco sat down that particular night, he supposed he should be grateful for her company. Granger was Merlin-knew-where most of the time and everyone else seemed terrified of him.

Which was vaguely pleasing, now that he thought of it.

Tonks chattered aimlessly at him as he picked at the singularly unimpressive lasagna. He took a moment to look at her- today her hair was a blinding shade of red- and wondered how she could remain so perky in the face of so much danger.

He must have spoken aloud without realizing it, because Tonks stopped her monologue to blink at him in surprise, and Lupin stopped sipping on his tea long enough to raise his eyebrows nearly to his hairline.

Draco scowled fiercely at them, willing them not to pry any further.

Tonks, being Tonks, ignored it.

"What do you mean by that, cuz?"

Draco conceded that he must participate in the inane conversation, or else be pestered until doomsday. "Just an observation. You handle the pressure much better than many of the others."

And it was true- only Loony Lovegood, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Longbottom had a carefree nature even close to hers. Even the She-Weasel and the Werewolf weren't as calm.

Tonks absently chewed on a celery stick as she spoke, "Well… I do keep myself busy, y'know, and that keeps my mind pretty occupied. But it's mostly the training, I guess. Combat training has given me a good 'center.'"

Then she smiled, as if what she said made any sense at all.

Tonks must have noticed his confusion, so she elaborated, "It's like giving yourself an emotional anchor, a calm, comforting spot in your mind where nothing can touch you." She looked over for a moment with a critical eye, "You want to give it a go? You have the markings of a good warrior."

Draco heard a noise that suspiciously sounded like a snort, and glanced at Lupin. He was innocently reading his novel, seemingly oblivious.

Draco smiled at his perky cousin, a real smile for once, and shrugged. "Why not? I'll read up on my hexes."

"Oh, you won't need your wand."

Draco blinked in surprise, truly caught off guard.

His cousin smiled innocently, "It's not _that_ kind of training."

000

He must have gone as stupid as a Weasley to think this torture was better than boredom.

Draco reported eagerly enough to his first training session with Kingsley Shacklebolt. Even though it was an ungodly hour in the morning. What reasonably sane person really woke at five AM anyway? To wake up he drank a few cups of strong coffee, but he really had no appetite at such an early hour.

_Ah, well_, Draco thought mildly, _I'll just wait until after I exercise and eat then._

The exercise room or the Dojo, as the members of The Rebellion called it, was housed in a small building near the edge of the camp. There was a large yard filled with interesting looking equipment- logs sticking out of the ground, beams suspended three feet high from the ground, ropes everywhere, and a large wall, placed randomly at the edge of a mud pit.

_Groundskeepers must be getting lazy, _Draco mused tiredly, _Mother would have a fit if our grounds were that muddy._

He mounted the simple wooden steps and slid open the door. The Dojo was simply one large room, with gleaming wooden floorboards, and simple white walls. What were impressive were the weapons gracing those walls. Swords of all kinds- rapiers, sabers, epee foils, katanas, kodachi, broadswords, scimitars, bastard swords- graced one of the walls. Staffs of all lengths, some tipped with viciously curved blades, some smooth adorned another. Various knives hung in a beautiful, deadly pattern. Large longbows hung next to medieval crossbows. Surprisingly, Muggle guns were ornamented neatly on one wall. Draco had never seen a gun before, and was surprised at the variety that was available. Some were small and decidedly unthreatening, but others were almost overwhelming in their menace.

It was an arsenal.

Kingsley knelt in the simple Dojo facing the opposite wall. Eyes closed, hands and features relaxed, it was the least intimidating pose that Draco had ever seen him in. It scared him more.

His Slytherin "sense" screaming, Draco felt the leashed danger radiating off of the large man, and decided that perhaps he wasn't cut out for this sort of work after all. Wasn't all of this combat crap for Gryffindors anyway? Yeah. Run, and live to fight another day was more his style.

Convincing himself that this was all a mistake and that he should spend more quality time with his pillows and blankets, Draco slowly turned around. He slowly placed his in front of one another, willing the floorboards to not creak, sneaking with all of his extensive skill.

"Where are you going boy?"

Draco froze and considered his options. They were not very good, and he was bored anyway, so he opted for a slight lie.

He mentally shrugged and conceded to the inevitable, "Nowhere. Am I in the right place for combat training?"

The large man just stared him down with his dark gaze, as if trying to assess his strengths, penetrate his weaknesses.

When he finally spoke, it was harsh and jarring in the calm air of the Dojo. "Have you any experience in the physical arts?"

_Is this guy for real? _Draco thought, but replied in a level tone, "Of course. I was Seeker for my House Quidditch team in Hogwarts for six years, and have played at least twice a week since the war. And I partook in weekly fencing lessons since age of six, of course."

This statement, instead of mollifying the man, seemed to make him depressed. Gracefully unfolding himself from the floor, he strode calmly to Draco. Walking around him in a neat circle, he stopped when he was in front again.

"Your attire is unacceptable. Don the garb in the locker over there."

Blinking at him in surprise for a moment, Draco quickly gathered his wits at this unexpected comment. _Unacceptable? I have worn this sort of uniform for Quidditch my entire life. _Grumbling to himself about stupid Aurors and their unreasonable demands, he strode rebelliously to the tiny locker in the corner of the Dojo. He slowly divested himself of the standard knee-high boots and tight fitting Quidditch robes.

Opening the locker, he was unsurprised to find it filled to the brim with Muggle clothing. Sighing, he picked the least complicated outfit that he could find- a pair of shorts and what looked like a thin undershirt, but seemed to be meant as outerwear.

Uncomfortable in the unfamiliar clothing, Draco irritably scowled at Shacklebolt. "Can we get on with this? I am tired with all of this bullshit, and want to learn real combat sometime before next year, thank you."

Kingsley didn't respond to the jibe, instead he calmly met Draco's angry gaze. Then, he spoke in that irritatingly calm voice, "You are unacceptably out of condition for combat training at this time. We will work on your fitness level first. Follow me."

With that, Kingsley strode calmly past Draco and out the door.

_Out of condition? Is he mental? I am a prime physical specimen! _

Draco stomped out of the Dojo to show that colossal idiot how 'out of condition' he was.

000

That night, Draco collapsed on his bed in a stupor.

_I can't believe I am so out of shape_, was his last thought before drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep.

000

Draco thought it could not get any worse. He had been conditioning his body for a solid month in the blistering heat of August, and Shacklebolt was a harsh taskmaster. He demanded nothing of his student what he couldn't do himself- that was the problem. Kingsley could run a marathon, do five hundred crunches, one hundred pushups, and complete the obstacle course in 10 minutes flat, all in one day. Then, he would get up the next day and do it again.

It was enough to make a grown man want to cry.

Draco soon found that his Quidditch training was worth next to nothing. Perhaps as a Beater or Chaser he would have developed more upper body strength, he thought irritably as he struggled to complete his thirtieth pull-up on the large bar outside the Dojo. At least fencing had given him some muscle. What had Quidditch gotten him? Nothing except great thighs and flying skills, which meant jack shit in this arena.

He had quickly found that out during his 'little jogs' with Kingsley or Tonks. He was wheezing after one kilometer while they could go on forever. Broom riding wasn't very good for endurance, it seemed.

Soon, however, his body adapted to the strain, and at the month's end, Draco began to relish his morning jogs. Even if working his body this way was a bit plebian, he looked better than ever. And that was certainly saying something.

Then he started the 'real' combat training.

Kingsley moved with a deadly kind of grace- surprising for someone of his size. Beautiful, powerful, he would tear through his _katas_, deploying phantom enemies with careful scorn. Draco learned these from the silent man- Kingsley would perform it once, and Draco would have to repeat it, exactly. If he made a mistake, as he inevitably did, Shacklebolt would calmly correct his form, and add another lap around the camp to his afternoon run.

Draco ran a lot.

But on the flip side, his attention span certainly got longer.

On the days that he would spar with the colossal man, Draco would hurt so badly that he would need to see Lisa Turpin, the resident Mediwitch, to fix all of his injuries. Broken ribs, bruises, and concussions- he got them all. It was surprising that he kept coming back, as he had never had much tolerance for pain. But then, he had never had _any _tolerance for someone getting the better of him.

He must be more masochistic than he thought. Or he was more of a Gryffindor. Or maybe his pride was finally getting the best of him…

Today, he was sparring with his cousin. Training with Tonks was always an experience. Not like the brutal beatings he suffered with Kingsley, but Draco dreaded them all the same. She was a walking contradiction- limber and clumsy. Fighting her was like fighting a drunkard- her unpredictable, bizarre contortions of her body, and her freakishly fluid dips made her moves impossible to predict. The most frustrating move was when she would 'trip,' evade Draco's textbook punch, and still manage to get in a nice hit that took the breath out of him.

Then she would giggle a little and say, "Whoops!" in a cute, completely un-winded voice.

_Ha-freaking-ha, _thought Draco, _If she laughs one more time I'll kick her to the moon, girl or not._

She bounced around him, blocking his hits, smiling, encouraging him at points, calling out comments like, "Good job!" or "Ooh, nice punch! I almost couldn't block that one!"

It was enough to make him see red.

He had worked up a good sweat, and had removed his shirt to relieve some of the heat in the stifling Dojo. It irked him that Tonks wasn't sweating nearly as much as he was, but he supposed that she had been doling this kind of punishment to her body on a more regular basis. Not that he was making excuses, of course. It just meant that he had more work to do.

It was one thing to be beaten to a bloody pulp by a colossal behemoth of a man like Shacklebolt, and quite another to have a little slip of a girl run circles around him.

He absently noted that some of his long hair had worked itself out of the tight knot at the base of his neck. As he irritably brushed it behind his ears, absently wiping the sweat off his brow, he noticed that he had an audience beyond the eerily silent, ever-present Shacklebolt.

Hermione and Neville were silently propped against the wall, watching him.

Draco felt a surge of anger. How dare they intrude on his training? Were they here to laugh at his ineptitude?

Upon closer examination, he noted no signs of humor in their eyes, no scornful smirks. He noted Hermione's dark gaze was more intent, more focused than Neville's.

Draco smirked.

He languidly circled his cousin, purposely positioning himself so that Granger could get the best view. He smoothly shifted into a stance that strained his back muscles.

He heard a soft gasp.

Crowing to himself in triumph, he slowly turned to see Granger staring determinedly at her shoes, cheeks pink.

Then Tonks landed a roundhouse kick to his abdomen.

Needless to say, he was finished with training for the day.

As he was trying to catch his breath, his grey eyes caught Hermione's hasty exit with Tonks in tow. _Next time. I will get her next time. _Over the course of the past month, she had been surprisingly hard to find. Even living in her house, he rarely saw her. Only the occasional glimpse from across the village, really.

It was enough to drive a man crazy.

Shacklebolt gave him a few stern words about paying attention during a fight, then left, leaving him alone with Longbottom.

It was odd, really. He had known Longbottom for practically his whole life, and he couldn't recall ever having a real conversation with the klutz. Teasing him probably didn't count.

Neville watched him with old, grave eyes. Assessing him. Measuring him. Oh yes, he was definitely not the timid little thing Draco remembered.

Then, just as suddenly, his face morphed back into that expression of doofy amiability that Draco remembered so well. He cleared is throat and spoke softly, "So Malfoy. I… I have been watching you, you know."

Draco raised an eyebrow, "Indeed?"

Neville smiled weakly, "Yes. And so has Millie. We needed to know… to know if you were trustworthy. Even with your pact."

Draco frowned impatiently, "Yes, yes. Because I am a piece of Death Eater scum, get on with it."

"No! It's… well, it's because of the way you look at Hermione."

Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Granger? What would I want with her?"

Neville looked at him evenly, "I can't say for sure. I don't even think _you_ know what you want from her. I just came to warn you."

"Warn me?"

"Yes. Hermione is probably the kindest person I have ever met. Not the quietest, or the shyest, maybe, but definitely the kindest. She helps students with their homework for hours and tries to help others who wouldn't help themselves, like House Elves." Neville seemed to turn inward and smiled a little as if remembering a particularly funny memory. "She used to knit these little caps… Never mind."

Draco snorted, "I don't believe it. The kindest? Please, she's not a pushover."

Neville shook his head, "Kind doesn't mean meek. She would stand up for what she believed in and defend her friends to the death. But she didn't want to."

"What?"

"She was dreading this war." Neville smiled wearily, "She wanted to become a Healer, to 'preserve life' not to take it."

"And the war?"

"I think it took something vital from her, even beyond taking away everything she loved. Do you know what happens to those who have too much compassion when broken? They can become the cruelest people imaginable. Because they know pain, they understand it; they have felt it for too long."

Draco swallowed harshly, "And Granger?"

"She's on the edge," Neville sighed, "She has very little left to live for, but she's not broken to the point where she wants _everyone_ to feel her pain no matter what the consequences. Although there are a few specific people for whom she wants that. I wouldn't like to be Voldemort right now."

"No. I don't think I would either."

Neville looked straight into his eyes and said, "So don't play with her Malfoy. She doesn't deserve it, and I don't think she is strong enough to take another blow of that magnitude. We don't know what might happen."

He sighed and said, "Understood, Longbottom. Now stop infesting my space with your presence, and leave me."

Draco looked at the weapons lining the wall and wondered how his life ever became this complicated. Because he knew that he wouldn't leave Hermione Granger alone, no matter what the cost.

000

**A/N**: This chapter was so fun for me to write! I got to air another one of my pet peeves- the 'Quidditch Honed Body.' As a former athlete, I can say that from JKR's description of the sport, it doesn't sound very physically demanding, especially the Seeker position. Like riding a horse- gives you great thighs and tone but not so hot for cardiovascular or for conditioning. Also, I got to use that Neville/Draco conversation that I had planned since this whole crazy thing got started. Speaking of which, I noticed that this story is over a year old. Eep! My excuse was that I was in college, so I had crappy updating skills. Hopefully I am doing better now. And, as always, thanks to my lovely beta Emily. She makes these things so much better, I promise you!

**SJ: **Your reviews are always so kind, they make me want to cry! I am so relieved that you think my characterization of Draco is good… I was so worried that I had made him OOC in this chapter. I also am excited for Draco and Hermione- finally they get to fall in love! Yay! Not too much "action" this chapter, but she did nurse him back to health, so she cares. Also, I am happy you liked my Voldemort. Yes he's calm and scary, but he's also freaking crazy- and crazy to me means that he is a bit childlike. Thanks again!

**sln1987**I am glad that you forgave me for being so late- I felt so guilty for keeping you guys hanging.I also am looking forward to Draco and Hermione spending some… quality… time together. The orb made a cameo here, and you can be sure that Malfoy's 'artifacts' will play a key part in the near future.

**Rembrandt**: Ahhhh… it makes sense now! I despise Mary Sues (and Gary Stews, of course) so it means a lot that you think Draco isn't one. I agree with your view on Voldemort. His type of power is ulitimately impotent because of his need for control, and I am glad that I am managing to convey that. Thanks so much for you review!

**Fire Magus:** Hahaha, I am glad that my opinion meant that much to you! I still love your name, but by all means, change it to something that suits your maturity if you feel it doesn't fit. Vashka is an odd Russian name that I came across and liked a lot. Silly, no? Certain names just stick in my head. I am glad you liked the last chapter, even without the D/Hr- hopefully this chapter made up for it a bit! I am moving more towards a gentler relationship, while still trying to keep the sexual tension. It's kinda difficult :P Keep me posted on how well I am doing, you leave great reviews! Thanks again!

**Destiny's Darkness: **Awww, I am so happy you like my Draco! I lurve him, he's such a complex, messed-up, fun character to write. I am glad I surprised you with that little twist- I couldn't lave my poor Draco there to die! Voldemort's reaction wasn't in this huge chapter primarily because it got so honking big. And the idea of Draco becoming a dancer was too much. When I read that, I burst out laughing and got the weirdest looks from my co-workers! I hope this chapter came out soon enough to suit your tastes. I'll keep writing if you keep reviewing, you leave the best reviews!

**Karen:** I am so glad you are enjoying my cocktail of fun that is this story. I don't like stories that are exclusively 'genre' and I hope that this isn't one of them. I also hope that this chapter answered your questions satisfactorily, if it didn't just pester me in a review! Thanks again!

**Marti Is So Cool:** You know what? You are the only one who commented on the beginning of the chapter! I guess everyone was so caught up in the end that they forgot about that little bit :P Anyway, thanks again, and I am so happy that you like my story enough to review all of my chapters- I really, really appreciate it.

**.Aurorablu.: **ooo… you have such a stylish penname. I am so flattered you think that this is one of the _best_ post-Hogwarts fics you have read! I really appreciate your praise. Heh, you know what? My summary makes me giggle sometimes too- I can just imagine one of those deep voices you hear on TV narrating it. I also felt very sorry for Draco last chapter, but hopefully you feel better for him here!

**Beautiful Screams of Heartache: **Wow, I am so incredibly happy you like my story that much. I do try to describe things as I see them-but 'mesmerize the mind'? Darling, you do know how to woo a girl! Hehe… Anyway, I also LOVE Polynesian dancing, I went to Hawaii and I absolutely love it. I had the pleasure to see a fantastic troupe perform regularly, and I hope I did the dancing justice!

**Ky-lee333: **Sorry to make you worry so about our poor Draco! He does suffer terribly, but he will get rewarded! (eventually) Thanks for the praise, and I hope you like this chapter as much as you liked the last one.

**Darkness-knight: **Your review really made my day! I am so happy you think I am original, I certainly try to be. I really stress about OCCness in my story, and am always glad to hear that I am doing something right. Thanks again!

**Scyco Sphinx: **Your review was so lovely to get in my inbox today! I am happy you liked the memories- I hoped they would have a positive effect and not detract from the story, and I am glad you liked them. And you have touched on my major pet peeve- Weak!Hermione. grrr. Hate that with a passion, let me tell you. Hahaha, I had no idea what Gary Stew was either, but my kind review told me that it was the male version of a Mary Sue. I agree with you totally about Narcissa and was so happy to see her vindicated in the 6th book. Boo-ya! You leave such nice reviews, thank you so much for your support.

**Sarah: **Aww, I am sorry your homecoming wasn't great, but I am happythis wasable to cheer you up a little. That happens to me too- if my favorite stories update on a bad day it always makes me feel better. Anyway, I am glad you liked it. And thanks for pointing out the freaking I's that were still there- converting this chapter from format to format is always annoying, and doesn't support freaking code! ARGH! So, I am very sorry about that, it was all my fault, really, I thought I had found all of those! Also, I agree with you about Voldie to an extent. Voldie in the books is a pretty thinly sketched character, and his 'personality' isn't so clear- except he is menacing. I also chose to make him crazy. An artistic decision to be sure- and I think he would get childishly angry if he didn't get what he wanted. Also remember that he is terrified that The Rebellion has the orb, so he is closer to snapping than usual… And don't be afraid to give me criticism! It makes me a better writer- which I certainly want to be!

**Kyra4: **Kyra! I am so happy to see you again! I was afraid that you might have lost interest in my story :P I can totally understand the fanfiction funk- have gone through a few of those throughout the years, but I always seem to come back!  
-Regarding your response to ch8: I am so glad you loved the flashback! I love it too- not tawdry, not lust-filled, but I wanted to give them something special and emotionalto connect them.Oh, and don't worry I'll give you the final battle from Hermione's perspective in a few chapters… I am glad you liked their little tussle. I thought it was a fun way for Draco to get a clue (I was so tired of him being clueless!) And that you so much for your kind comments about my eroticism- they really made my day! So many people confuse the erotic with just hot sex- and it is so much more! I am so happy someone else sees it my way.-Regarding ch9: I am so glad you understand about almost killing poor Draco. I have read your wonderful stories and he always seems to go through the emotional and physical wringer! As for Voldie seeing Hermione, he didn't see anything sensitive, Draco was't completely broken and he as holding onto those memories for all he was worth. As for Narcissa… well, I will get into her a little more in the next chapter! And you caught the Nott reference- huzzah! I thought I might have been a bit too subtle there, as no one else seemed to catch it. But you are such a wonderful, through reader! I am so appreciative of your support, and am glad to have you back!

**Trieste: **I am so glad that you have decided to join my bandwagon of fun! I love your story, and it always nice to acquire an author I respect as a reader. I am not too sure how far you have gotten in my story, so I'll just address the chapters you have reviewed to date (1-3).  
Ch2: I agree with you that Hermione as a dancer is far-fetched, but that was what I was going for, really. I needed something far away from her usual persona so I could keep her in character- does that even make sense? Anyway, I am glad you like my Blaise even if he flirts with being un-canon now. I think that most people in power are hypocritical in most ways, so I think them listening to muggle music would be remarkably in character. About your italics suggestion: I totally agree, and if/when I go back to edit this thing, I'll fix it. My only excuse was that I was at the beginning of my writing and I really wasn't sure about the italics/narrator mix. I hope I am doing better now!Ch3: Point of no return? Ah, darling, you make a writer very happy :P But thank you on your lovely compliments about the D/Hr. I so try to keep them in character in their interactions and am trying to get them to fall in love IN CHARACTER. Because it is possible, and that is why I love this ship! And Hermione is the thief, as you have figure out if you have gotten this far! I hope you enjoy, and I appreciate all of your reviews.

**Lorett: **Darling, you are so good to me! You were one of my betas for the last chapter- no need to review me! And your third review? Holy crap! I am so sorry! I know how frustrating that can be. And I did laugh at the wonder woman joke- it was such an apt description of this chapter! And I couldn't have posted it without your encouragement, I was so nervous… Thank you so much darling!

**Fraulindemann: **Ah thinking. And a complex plot.How JKR sometimesneeds thee. Oh, and the M rating is definitely warranted with all the swearing, eroticism and violence here. No kiddies please! I am glad that you are OK with what I did to Draco, he does need to pay a bit, even if he was under orders and was scared. Oh, and you figured it out! No one else caught that little reference. Next chapter we'll get into the whole France thing, I promise! I always appreciate your lovely reviews, and am greatful to have you as a loyal reader!

**Britt1975: **I must say, your review really made my day! I like to think of my story as a mixture of a lot of things- and threw in a little bit of angst. I am glad that you liked it and it didn't seem like it was from left field. I have cried in a few fanfics too, and it always seems like I cry at ones that aren't angsty all of the time. It makes the drama seem more real, you know? I am glad you like my plot and you think it fits well with canon! I do try my best to make it as in-character as possible so I love feedback on that front. Oh, and as for a happy ending? I wouldn't have it any other way:P

**Elvencherry07: **You know what? Your review made me laugh really, really hard. Your dream was priceless! And inspired by my Draco? I am so flattered! Finding Lucius's school planner is hilarious. Thank you for saying how in character they are, I try very hard to do that, so it means a lot. Oh, and I also like Narcissa. As you could probably tell. And I am happy you like my humor, I have a weird sense of humor sometimes. Anyway, thank you so much!

**Much thanks and appreciation go out to: **seez, evillizzy89, seghen, chocl8chps, EquestrianBabe, DanzaPalooza, vOniiZ, GrYfFiNfOrZ GiRl, Lady Isis, somebody, VBC, Young poet15, xoxobriTtAnyxoxo13, sarklover826, F-chan1, jedigirl3390, Lrnd, Outsane, LittleBlackSwan, Unspeakable May, claidibabaa,


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Vengeance**

**Chapter Eleven**

**000**

**Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story, all Harry Potter copyrights belong to J.K. Rowling. I also do not own 'Batman Begins' which belongs to DC comics. Kudos to anyone who catches the reference. **

**000**

"**On wrongs swift vengeance waits.****"  
**

**Alexander Pope**

**000**

The orb was driving Draco insane.

It was the only explanation. Why else would he have incessant thoughts of Granger running around in his brain? Sure, as a student and later as an adult he had fantasized about shutting Granger up in pleasurable ways, but this went far beyond erotic imagery.

He thought about her smile, her eyes, her scent, her laugh, and everything else that could even be remotely associated with Granger. He could be thinking of a safe, seemingly innocuous topic, like training. Then, randomly, he would wonder what training regimen Granger underwent. This then led to thoughts of Granger's damp, flushed body, which naturally led to thoughts of hot, sweaty sex.

Alternatively, he would see his cousin and her moronic husband laugh at some inane joke and wonder what Hermione found humorous. When he found himself waxing poetic about her _hair_ of all things, he knew he was going nutters.

What sort of spell was this? Could he have taken the Amortentia potion?

Draco was in Hermione's tiny living room doing sit-ups. Mostly because he was bored, but he was also doing them in the hope that the pain would drain away the sentimental hogwash from his system. Erotic fantasies about Granger in her negligee were acceptable, but this new feeling of lovey-dovey goodness was not.

Exercise helped clear his mind. As he absent-mindedly counted his sit-ups, he wondered if it was the pain. His mind was certainly focused when Voldemort was torturing him- until the point where he started to go insane, of course. So perhaps pain in small doses was more effective? Maybe that was why McGonagall's classes always stuck so well…

One hundred and one, one hundred and two… 

As both Tonks and Shacklebolt were away on 'business' today, Draco was on break from training. However, he was bored, and since he didn't want Tonks to kick his ass tomorrow he decided to train a bit on his own. So that was how Draco came to be in the living room of Hermione's little house, feet tucked under the sofa, counting crunches until doomsday and thinking random thoughts in a pain-induced haze.

_One hundred and twenty-five, one hundred and twenty-six…_

As Draco clenched his teeth at the burn, he felt the orb's presence in the back of his mind. Draco had rationalized that it was the orb planting those ridiculous thoughts of Granger in his head for three very good reasons:

One: The incessant singing of the thing was driving him mad, thereby making him susceptible to all sorts of inconceivable notions.

Two: Granger was not in his proximity enough to cause these sorts of fantasies, so something else must be the source.

Three: He was usually around the bloody thing whenever he began to have these irrational thoughts.

_One hundred and seventy, one_ _hundred and seventy-one…_

Draco was acutely aware of the cloth of his thin shirt sticking to his body with sweat. He felt the slide of the droplets down his brow and into his eyes as he grunted in time to his crunches. He blinked, trying to rid them of the sting, and wondered if he should fence this afternoon. He was getting quite proficient with the Japanese Katana as well as the more traditional Western blades. Shacklebolt thought he was almost ready to move onto the staff in a few weeks. _I'll show those bastards, _Draco thoughtnot entirely sure if he meant the King's minions or the Rebels,_ I'll show them what a Malfoy can do. _

Vague plans for a boring but productive afternoon solidified in his mind, when images of a tiny brunette witch suddenly filled his brain.

_Dusky, rose-colored nipples on a pair of beautifully proportioned breasts, dark eyes sparkling in anticipation…_

Draco stopped his sit-ups to glare at the orb on the mantel. "Will you quit that? I know what you are trying to do to me and it won't work."

The orb continued to glow innocently. Draco wanted to shake some sense into it, if, of course, inanimate objects had any sense to gain.

Draco doubted it.

An image of Hermione's naked backside floated through his brain, but Draco was having none of it. Steel eyes narrowed in concentration as he banished the tantalizing image from his mind. He gracefully rose from the floor and glared at the innocuous stone.

"And don't you try to placate me that way!" Draco sneered, "All you are doing is giving me a permanent hard-on and the need to wank three times a day to feel even remotely comfortable. I do not appreciate it, so please desist from this pointless fixation. Nothing, and I mean _nothing_, will come of it."

The orb flickered apologetically, and hummed a soothing song that ran over Draco's taut nerves like a calm brook.

"Better," Draco nodded regally and then suddenly smiled slyly. "If you do as I say, we can have a lovely relationship. Now, about that wish… You wouldn't be able to tell me about that would you? Show me images about that instead of a useless girl?"

The orb continued to pulsate in time to its song, uninterested.

"All right then, if you want to be difficult," Draco glared at it intently, eyes searching for any changes in light patterns which might signal a positive response. "What about the Eleusinian Mysteries? Can you show me anything about that?"

At this, the orb brightened considerably, shining a deep fuchsia.

Draco smiled and cautiously probed it for more information. "You know about that, don't you? All right then, now tell me…"

Draco wasn't able to finish his statement, as a bedraggled Hermione Granger chose that moment to slam open the front door to the tiny house, shaking its wooden frame.

Marching up to an incredibly surprised Draco, she forcefully slapped her hands onto his chest and pushed his body onto the floor. Unresisting, he fell gracelessly onto it, smacking his head onto the wood. Hermione quickly descended after him, pinning his stunned form to the ground.

Dazed, he thought, _I have got to be dreaming. Or in an orb-induced coma. There is no way Granger is here, playing out my wickedest fantasies._

But the firm pressure of her hand on his chest reminded him that she was real, the dark fire in her eyes promised unfathomable passion…

Hermione gathered up his shirtfront in her left fist as her face slowly lowered to his. Her eyes darkened and her pupils dilated. As she slowly licked her full lips, Draco's mind was strangely blank, his body more aroused than he could remember.

_She's going to kiss me. Sweet Merlin, she's finally going to kiss me._

"How the hell do I get into your fucking house Malfoy?"

_Or not, _Draco thought peevishly. What he had mistaken for arousal was in actuality the flush of anger. He should have expected it, really. Granger was not so easily seduced. Unfortunately.

The mood was shattered, but his body was still uncomfortably aroused. Hermione's sneering lips were still a breath from his, her furious eyes glittering, and Draco couldn't stand the close proximity of her heated, soft body without flipping her over and burying himself in her hot core. Unfortunately, that option was out of the question if he wanted to live. Instead, he shoved her off his prone form, and her startled body slid over the soft carpet and polished wood. Meanwhile he gathered his wits, and tried to suppress his feral desire.

Finally, he turned to her and smiled nastily, "Looking a mite under the weather today, Granger. Were you on the losing side of a tussle with your hairbrush?"

Hermione managed to look regal despite her disheveled appearance, and snarled, "I'll ask you one more time, Malfoy, how the hell do I get into your bloody house?"

Draco glared at her and bared his gleaming white teeth. "Why the hell should I tell you?"

"Because I will cut your balls off with a rusty razorblade if you don't."

Even though Draco's testicles were shrinking at that gruesome image, he refused to be cowed. "I want to come to the meetings."

"Out of the question."

"No deal," Draco leaned against the wall, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Hermione's jaw was clenched and her slim frame radiated tension, "Why?"

"I want to know what I am risking my neck for. And I also want to prevent you idiots from leading the Dark King straight to me."

Hermione was silent for a moment, her eyes boring into his. Draco stared back, unimpressed.

"Fine. Meet me at Ginny's house at three o'clock tomorrow." Her mouth set into a grim line, "But I am warning you, Malfoy, I will not tolerate any of your crap. Also, if you betray us… well, let's just say that what Voldemort did to you will seem like a lover's kiss by comparison."

Hermione stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

Draco looked at the orb on the mantel and said sardonically, "That went rather well, don't you think?"

Pink light pulsed from the orb in answer, curling around Draco's fingers comfortingly.

000

The meeting went surprisingly well.

The She-Weasel's house was larger than Hermione's and fit the leading members of the Rebellion quite nicely. Draco lounged on a comfortable settee near the fire and munched on a biscuit, watching everyone else watch him.

As he went to pour himself a cup of tea, Hermione rushed in.

"Sorry I'm late," She said while unwrapping herself from a large, knitted scarf, "Rehearsal ran over today and… Why isn't anyone talking?"

The former members of the Order of the Phoenix were silently watching Draco as if he were a snake- which, of course, he was.

"Didn't I tell you Draco was to be included in this meeting?"

Millicent spoke quietly, "Yes, we knew, but you weren't specific as to what information he is to be privy to."

Hermione blinked, "Yes. I suppose that is true. Well, let's get on with it."

As Draco continued to munch, he listened very carefully to the conversation. His personality did not allow himself to blend into the background very well, but he did give it his best shot. He was Slytherin enough to know when to listen and shut the hell up.

Ginny fussed over Hermione as she sat on a divan near Draco. From their murmured conversation, he gathered that the She-Weasel didn't like Granger's job very much. Interesting.

The Werewolf then gave a most fascinating report on the state of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. It was no surprise to anyone that Durmstrang had become a stronghold for Voldemort supporters overseas, and was a likely base of operations for Voldemort's inevitable campaign to win the Continent. However, France was of more interest to Voldemort now. He had never had much of a hold there, so it was **to **be a more difficult obstacle to surmount. The Dark King could never resist a challenge.

Lupin told of Madame Maxime's disappearance. She hadn't been seen for a few months, but they hadn't worried at the time because she was supposed to rendezvous with the Giants. But she hadn't come back, and Lupin's contacts in France couldn't find her among the Giants. It was a worrying discovery, and it had a distinct effect on the people in the room.

Draco was lost in visions of screaming and burning… lost in the mind of a maniac. He carefully kept his face neutral as he thought about that horrible day. _So much of that day is gone from my memory, but I could have sworn there was something…_

Hermione interrupted his thoughts by sighing heavily, "She never was the same after Hagrid died. I hope… I hope that she is safe somewhere."

Ginny, sitting at Hermione's feet, looked up at her with tears in her eyes and took Hermione's hand. Hermione squeezed it reassuringly.

Tonks cleared her throat loudly and spoke roughly, "Well. Onto the business at hand. Breaking into Malfoy Manor has turned out to be more of a challenge than we had thought. Any suggestions?"

"I need to go with her."

Everyone turned to look at Draco, who had been silently watching the proceedings.

Ginny glared at him, her brown eyes gleaming with hatred, "Listen here you slimy bastard. Hermione is not going anywhere with you. You don't even have the right to kiss her boots."

Draco calmly took a sip of his tea and said, "I understand that you don't necessarily like it, but that doesn't change the fact that I need to go with her."

Luna Lovegood gave him a quiet smile. "It's because of your blood ties to Malfoy Manor, isn't it?"

Draco was vaguely startled by her reasonable deduction, but covered it nicely. "Yes. To make it simple, the house has been designed not open to anyone outside of the family. Blood." He set down his cup calmly and continued in serene, reasonable tones. "But if I do this, I want something in return. I want full access to all of the information and plans the Rebellion has against Voldemort."

Hermione sent him a startled look. "Why?"

Draco smiled a mirthless smile and his eyes were cold, "Because I am going to kill that son of a bitch."

Neville sighed and wiped the strain from his eyes. "Fine. It is decided. You will go on this mission with Hermione. However, if she is harmed in any way, or if our organization is compromised, your life will be forfeit. Understood?"

Draco nodded.

Hermione just looked at him with her deep, dark eyes. Then she turned and walked out of the door without saying a word.

Lavender Brown peered into the bottom of the teacup. Her heavy bangles jingled on her wrists as she turned her cup around. Blinking quickly, she gasped, "Oh dear! It seems… It seems this mission is… destined for doom!"

000

The next evening, Draco and Hermione were glaring at each other in the kitchen of Hermione's little cottage. It was late at night, and although both of them were nursing large mugs of coffee, neither of them was awake enough to plan anything of importance. Therefore, Draco resorted to what he did best.

Making a pest of himself.

"Where the hell did you get these plans Granger?"

"Why would I tell you?"

"You might want to tell me because they are absolute bullshit." He made an extravagant gesture with his arms as he swept his graceful hands over the plans. "Possibly the most inaccurate drawings I have ever seen. Did you make them yourself, perhaps?"

"No, the Ministry did."

"When? In the Thirteenth Century?"

"Actually… that is relatively accurate." Hermione gave him a little smile as she considered the plans again, and then shook her head in exasperation. "Your relatives must have been extraordinarily paranoid. All I could find was that lousy floor plan and a list of your wards. And obviously those are imprecise."

"Rightly so. Why tell the Ministry more than it needs to know?"

"I'm quite scared right now."

"Eh?"

"I actually agree with you."

000

"Will you just listen for once?"

Hermione and Draco were on the floor in the small common space of Hermione's house in front of the hearth, working late into the night a week later. Plans and maps were scattered around them in a haphazard fashion. At one point, one of them had gone to the camp kitchens and picked up a tray of fruits and cheeses that was now sitting precariously on an end table by the fire. The orb was strangely silent in their minds, quiet and content to hum a soft, soothing song.

Draco shrugged his shoulders as he leaned back against the sofa. "Why should I? You obviously have no idea of what you are talking about."

"Excuse me!" Hermione crossed her arms and glared at Draco, "I have broken into the most secure buildings in the Wizarding world. I certainly know what I am talking about, and you would do well to listen!"

"Luck," Draco sneered. He poured two glasses of Chardonnay as he spoke. "As far as I can see, you have been freakishly fortunate that your targets haven't had a security system that was worth anything until now, or you would have been fucked."

"I suppose." Draco offered a glass of the cold wine, and Hermione accepted gracefully. She took a cautious sip and sighed in contentment. She smiled at Draco coldly, "Can we get back to planning now? I am tired of hearing you whine."

Draco's lips curved into a smile, "Bitch."

"Bastard."

"Ha! Poor comeback, Granger, as my parents were married. Cow."

"Inbred git."

"Mudblood."

Hermione rolled her eyes and smirked, "How original. I haven't heard that one from you before."

Draco grinned, "Some traditions shouldn't be broken Granger." He leaned back to grab a bunch of grapes from the platter. Eyes gleaning wickedly, he popped one into his mouth. As he chewed, his pink tongue darted up sensually to lick a drop of juice from his lips.

Hermione's eyes were fixated on that nimble organ as it traced his mobile mouth. She wondered what that tongue would feel like on her mouth, on her skin… Then she abruptly remembered whom she was fantasizing about. Her dark eyes snapped up to Draco's smugly gleaming steel orbs.

Hermione's eyes narrowed at the challenge hidden within them.

_You want me. You will come to me, and I will make you feel._

She wondered how good he was at Legilimency. If he could read her mind right now, he would know how cold she was, and just how tempting his burning warmth really was to her. All of a sudden, she felt the full weight of her worries, felt the stress of her position cramp up muscles and rob her of breath.

She turned from his knowing eyes to look into the dancing flames in the grate. "I'm tired of planning. Let me rest my eyes for a moment."

"What? The tireless Hermione Granger wants to take a break?"

She glared at him, hating his cool, mocking gaze. "Yes. So shut up for a moment."

Draco astonishingly kept quiet. For a few precious moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

Draco, unsurprisingly, was the first to break their silence, "So, uh, you stayed with me the whole time I was injured."

"Didn't I tell you to be quiet?"

Draco scooted close to Hermione to fill her empty goblet with the crisp wine. He leaned over her body to reach the glass, ghosting her skin with his. He smiled cockily and said, "Yes. Aren't you going to answer my question?"

Hermione huffed partly in exasperation, partly to dispel the lingering warmth of Draco's body. "You aren't going to shut up unless I do, right?

"Right."

Hermione sighed and turned to look at him, "Yes. Yes, I did stay with you."

There was an awkward pause as both Hermione and Draco seemed to realize their close physical proximity. Their faces were close, so close that their breath mingled and fused. For once, Hermione's dark brown eyes were not hard, they were incredibly soft looking, like old, lovingly worn velvet. If Draco had the courage, if he moved now, he could claim those soft lips for his own…

Hermione shifted her gaze away hurriedly. She edged away from Draco, moving to add wood to the fire jerkily, like a startled animal.

Draco cleared his throat awkwardly and spoke in a croaking whisper, "How did you explain that to your dancers?"

Hermione looked at him as if he were the village idiot. He certainly felt like it after that bit of verbal diarrhea. Sarcastically, she said, "Even dancers at gentleman's clubs get vacation, Malfoy. Would look strange if I didn't take one every once in awhile, actually."

"So where did you go on this fictitious vacation?"

"Hawaii, actually. I even had the pictures and tan to prove it."

"Sounds lovely. Too bad you are too much of a stick-in-the-mud to actually go."

Hermione glared at him, then sighed and thought to herself, _It's going to be a long night._

000

Draco was hiking through the woods with Granger. He really had no idea where they were going, as he and Granger were not on civil speaking terms now for some reason unknown to him. Women were strange like that sometimes, he supposed. However, he did not mind too much, as her swaying walk was much more entertaining than listening to her bitch at him. Although this adventure was a good deal better than training with Shacklebolt, he had really had enough of nature, i.e. mud, to last him a few years. Except for that small hot spring that he had discovered a few kilometers from the camp, all of that earthy shit could be blasted to oblivion for all he cared.

Idly glancing at the gracefully waving branches of the trees overhead, he noted the changes in color. How long had he been here in the Rebel camp? Was it really only a few months? He had gone to Voldemort in early summer and it was already autumn.

Draco furrowed his brow slightly as he thought of his time here. Was it really so bad? Once the little Mudbloods had grown used to him, he had found them to be quite… normal. With an adult perspective and the ideals fed to him during his youth jaded and worn, he felt he could judge the worthiness of those children more accurately.

Did they deserve magic?

He supposed that was the question underlying this stupid conflict. Voldemort had used the Pureblood fear of these children's serendipitous magical powers to further his own ends. Muggle-borns were different. They had strange customs and mannerisms that Purebloods didn't understand.

And one always fears what they don't understand.

As they weaved through the woods, Draco thought about Tom Riddle. In the end, he was just a power-hungry, opportunistic man. Draco understood that and admired him for it. Voldemort came and preyed on the rising fear of change, and united the Purebloods against a common enemy. After the last battle, when Pureblood supremacy had been assured, like good little peons, Voldemort's pure followers gratefully gave him the throne.

Voldemort had scammed them all in a quest for power.

And they had bought it.

Draco supposed that was what bothered him the most. He had been so easily controlled,andhis father and his grandfather before him had been artfully conned by a power-hungry lunatic. He was a Slytherin, descended from a long line of Slytherins. They were the masters of manipulation, not the suckers who were manipulated.

As Draco was thinking deeply of Mudbloods, Magic, and Maniacal rulers, his surroundings faded, and the sounds dimmed.

Therefore, he didn't notice when Hermione stopped.

Still thinking, Draco stepped confidently forward and plowed into Hermione's back. Draco felt his footing slip in the soft, rain-slick earth and with a shout of surprise, his face full of soft brown curls, Hermione's warm body collided with his. He instinctively wind milled his arms wildly to keep his balance, but it was a lost cause.

Both Draco and Hermione tumbled to the ground.

Draco was pressed against Hermione's backside, her smooth, full curves rubbing against the length of his body. It was heaven. It was hell. He was exactly where he wanted to be, but he could not do anything about it, or Hermione would hex his balls off.

However, he could use this situation to his advantage. He was a Slytherin after all.

"Granger, I think your hair is choking me."

"Get off me, you bloody arse!"

Under the guise of fumbling, Draco covertly caressed Hermione's firm buttocks and trim waist.

When he finally lifted himself off her, Hermione's face was flushed and her pupils were dilated. It was difficult to tell if her state was due to desire or anger, but Draco preferred to think it was desire. After all, who wouldn't desire him?

Draco stood stiffly, brushing off the dirt from his clothes. It was annoying that he had gotten filthy, but the opportunity to touch Hermione had almost made it worth it. Almost. He didn't have as many clothes as he used to, and he had rather liked these trousers. Sniffing in disdain and quickly scouring his knees with a cleaning spell, he made to hike on, but Hermione was still sitting on the ground.

Her eyes spat angry sparks as she glared at him, "Sit back down, you pansy."

"What?"

"I said sit down!" Hermione rolled her eyes, "I stopped for a reason, idiot."

Draco huffed at that, but sat down as instructed.

Hermione glared at him for a moment, and then took a deep breath to calm herself. "Right, as you insist on coming with me on this mission, you will need to prepare yourself."

"What do you think I have been doing for the past few months? I am more than ready. Even Shacklebolt says so."

Hermione felt the beginnings of a headache coming on and rubbed her temples, "Must you always argue with me? I am aware of your progress, physically. What I meant is that you need to acquire a few special skills to be proficient at thievery."

Draco scowled, "I am already quite adept at Occlumency and Legilimency." He shot her a mocking smile, "What else do you deem necessary, oh great thief?"

"You need to become an animagus. Hopefully your animal isn't totally useless. Not that I am expecting anything."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Alright, I can see the benefits of that. So why the hell did you have to go five kilometers into the bloody woods to tell me that?"

"We needed to go into the woods, Malfoy, because you need to meditate in a natural environment to focus on your inner animal. Can we get started, or do you want to whine some more?"

He glared at her sullenly and agreed, "Fine."

Hermione explained the basics of meditation and the principles behind the animagus transfiguration. Draco didn't really listen. He would study it himself and try it later. He was more focused on the way her red lips moved, and the way her eyes lit up when she talked upon a subject that captured her interest. _Once a know-it-all, always a know-it-all, _Draco thought

"… Malfoy? Are you ready? Are you even listening?"

Draco snapped out of his trance, "Oh? Yes."

"Then let's begin our meditation."

Hermione closed her eyes and started to breathe in an even, regulated manner. Draco supposed he was to do this also, so he closed his eyes as well. After a few minutes of this, he began to get bored. _This is bullocks. I have no idea what I am doing, and the ground is freezing. Stupid bint._

Draco cracked open his eyes from his 'meditation' and looked at Hermione. She was calm, for once. He had noticed during their time together that she was always on alert, always ready for… something. Overflowing with an excess of energy, her body could burst into motion at any time. She had honed herself into a machine, it seemed, always meticulous and careful. As he studied her face, he suddenly remembered a time when the thief wasn't so careful. And since Hermione was the thief…

"I have to ask, why did you want us to know the orb was taken?"

Hermione opened her eyes and glared at him. "What are you talking about this time? And why aren't you meditating?"

"Tsk, tsk. Answering a question with a question, what poor manners! But really, we wouldn't have known about the robbery if the guard wasn't left unconscious. I want to know why."

"Well, one doesn't always get what one wants."

"I do."

"Not this time." Hermione's eyes darkened until they were almost black, and her voice became hoarse. "Some things are never meant to be given."

Draco stoically took in her silence. He closed his eyes to attempt to meditate, and felt rather than heard her sigh.

_Malfoys always get what they want, _Draco's inner voice purred.

000

Hermione was so frustrated with Draco Malfoy she could scream.

His arrogance, his posturing, and his condescending attitude - absolutely everything about him - chafed her raw until she was bristling and snarling like a Kneazle. He confronted her on every issue and tore her plans into shreds with his smooth, aristocratic drawl. Hermione hadn't had anyone challenge her like this in years. She might have enjoyed it if Malfoy wasn't so goddamn smug all of the time.

It didn't help that he was _always _aroundHe seemed to sense when she was in the compound and seek her out. Hermione would be teaching the students, and his bright head would appear jogging out of the woods. Or she would be training with Tonks, and Draco would appear in the Dojo. Once he had walked in on her in the shower.

Hermione snorted as she thought of his phony apology after she screamed at him for that particular incident, _'Didn't know she was there.' Creative excuse, Malfoy. _

She regretted her offer to let Malfoy live in her little house. She never realized how much she depended on having a little place that she could call her own. In each camp that the Rebels had over the years, she had a place where she could go to be herself, to be alone.

_To be weak._

As Hermione took off her sweaty training clothes in her tiny bedroom, she pondered quietly. She hadn't had time to unwind in a few months. Actually, she couldn't remember a time since Draco had joined their little band that she had taken any real time for herself.

_That's it_, Hermione thought, _All I need to do is recharge. Then I'll be able to handle Malfoy and all of his infantile behavior with perfect calmness. That'll teach him._

Hermione quickly pulled on a pair of comfortable sweatpants and her favorite worn-in jumper. Slipping on her trainers, she tiptoed to her bedroom door. Silently, she opened it and peeked around the corner to peer in the living room.

Draco was no where to be seen.

Cocking her head slightly, she listened for any sign of activity in the kitchen. When Hermione heard nothing but the soft murmur of the wind outside the house, she sprung into action. She had to leave before he could come back to the house from wherever he was and ruin her peace.

In her rush to get out the door, she paused for a moment to look at the orb. It flashed plaintively, and the ever-present song in her head was hopeful.

"Oh, all right. I'll take you with me. But you had better behave yourself."

Soon, Hermione was enjoying the autumn scenery while picking her way through the woods to the hot spring. As her feet crushed the brittle bed of leaves under her feet, the smell of warm fall afternoons filled her nostrils triggering memories of playing in leaf-piles with her parents.

Closing her eyes at the bittersweet rush the memory brought to her chest, Hermione slowly breathed out the soft scent, trying to block it from her brain. _Don't think about it Hermione. Just don't think about it. It won't hurt if you don't think about it._

Suddenly Hermione felt a wave of warm feelings wash through her, drowning her pain. She glanced at the orb thankfully, and it pulsed softly in sympathy. Hermione smiled slightly and said softly, "Thanks. I needed that."

Hermione continued walking at a brisk pace, eager to plunge into the scalding waters of the spring and purge all of her sorrow. The hot waters of the spring seemed like the only thing that gave her pleasure anymore. Dancing used to give her that same feeling, but Voldemort had tainted that too- now she danced for the scum that served him.

_You could have unimaginable ecstasy, _whispered a small voice in her mind, _all you need to do is give into the promises in Draco's eyes. Become one with him and forget all of your pain…_

Hermione stopped and shook her head sharply, as if she could rid herself of her traitorous thoughts. She glared at the orb, "I will not abandon my responsibilities for a fuck with some man who doesn't even care about me. And even if he did, I can't leave these people. They need me. More than he ever will."

_But more than you need him?_

Ghosts of thought chased each other through her brain, teasing her with possibilities. Children with bright silver eyes, a house that she felt safe in, a husband to share her passion and heartache… _A real family of my own._

But Hermione knew that it was an unrealistic dream. She had given up all hope for a normal life the day Harry and Ron died. Something in her had been broken. Now, all she was useful for was a tool of revenge, and that suited her just fine.

The orb throbbed in Hermione's hand, as if it didn't like the direction of her thoughts. She rolled it gently between her hands to soothe it, enjoying its warm, smooth texture. Quietly she walked along the familiar path until she came to the steaming spring.

It was a very cool afternoon, so crisp that the hot vapor from the spring hung like a dense cloud. Sighing as the heat hit her numb face, Hermione set down the orb gently and quickly started to rip off her clothing in her eagerness to immerse herself.

_Splash!_

Hermione froze.

_I'm not alone. _

Her hand crept steadily towards her wand as her eyes strained to see the intruder through the heavy mist. Just as she grasped it, a slight breeze gently stirred the mist enough for her to see the mystery bather.

It was Draco Malfoy.

Naked.

He had just surfaced from the water, eyes closed, and his expression blissful. His sleek hair clung to his chiseled cheekbones and jaw line. The fog swirled, lifted, and caressed his long, lean body. Draco's moon-pale skin was flushed from the hot water, and the pinkness gave his muscles a healthy, vigorous look that they did not have when he was sick.

_I wonder if he becomes flushed like that when he gets aroused. _

Hermione shook her head slightly to rid herself of those traitorous thoughts. She had seen him naked when she tended to him when he was ill. She had looked her fill and hadn't been aroused at all. This was the exact same thing.

So why couldn't she tear her eyes away?

Reassuring herself that his eyes were still closed with a quick glance, Hermione decided to go back to the camp. _One more look_.

Almost unwillingly, her eyes were drawn downwards. His chest had filled out from his training, and his firm pectorals glistened and rippled as he ran his hands through his hair, pulling it off his face. His abdomen was particularly fine, with grooves and hollows that her tongue ached to trace.

Peering through her lashes, she looked father south, and assessed his most private parts. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen a penis before. Indeed, she had even inspected Draco's when he was sick, purely out of curiosity. She had never been particularly impressed by one, and thought they looked strange. Yet somehow, at this moment with the mist stirring restlessly around them, she felt a shaft of desire pierce through her womb as she stared at it.

What would it feel like inside her? Would she be as cold as the men in the camp thought she was? Or would she melt into waves of bliss as Draco rode her? Part of her wanted to strip off her clothes and find out; the other, bigger, part was terrified at the strength of the desire riding her body.

As she stared hungrily, she noted a change. His cock began to expand and thicken. Fascinated, Hermione breathlessly watched as it grew. _Merlin, it almost doubled in size…_

"So are you going to stop staring and join me?"

Dark eyes flew up to meet intense silver ones.

_Oh shit._

000


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Vengeance**

**Chapter Twelve**

**000**

Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story. All Harry Potter copyrights belong to J.K. Rowling. 

**000**

**We trifle when we assign limits to our desires, since nature hath set none.**

**-Christian Nevell Bovee**

**000**

Blood, so dark it was almost black, ran down Theodore Nott's back as the knife bit into his flesh. Slowly, slowly, an unnamed Death Eater carved a grinning skull into his skin before the throne of Voldemort.

Voldemort watched, mildly interested, as Nott screamed after a particularly vicious stroke. The new recruit took his time, the Dark King noted, and was quite artistic in his technique. Even without magic, the Dark Mark was forming nicely. He would have to get the boy's name afterwards and give him special training. One could always use a child with a particular aptitude for sadism.

The young man had completed the skull and was making short work of the twisting snake that would complete the Dark Mark. Nott bawled in agony as the man made deep, sinuous slices depicting the snake, letting a fresh spurt of coppery, red blood with each measured stroke.

When the mark was finished, the slender man bowed deeply at the foot of the dais. Voldemort nodded approvingly and rose, his elegant black robes swirling around his gaunt frame.

"You have done well," he hissed, dismissing the young Death Eater with the flick of his wrist.

"As for you, young Nott, I am afraid you have not met with my approval. Do you know what your failure is, scum?"

Nott gave no sign of recognition, except for a low gurgle.

"I thought not." Voldemort elegantly flipped his wrist, and his long, dark wand appeared in his hand. Swishing it briefly in a complex movement, it glowed a sickly yellow. The wan radiance gave the King's reptilian skin an unnatural pallor in the dank lighting of the Great Hall.

"You exposed a traitor, an accomplishment for which I will spare your life. However, as he was here, bleeding, dying, naked to my sight, he _disappeared_."

Snarling, he bared pointy, alien teeth at the assembled Death Eaters, and instinctively those who were looking at that terrible expression took a step backwards. Nervously, the crowd was reminded how dangerous this shell of a human, this hideous monster, the very one with whom they'd pledged their lives to was.

"Not one of you," Voldemort continued harshly, "Not _one_ saw the perpetrators of either the explosions in the North Tower or those who took my helpless prisoner. Not _one_ of you useless imbeciles has any explanation besides 'the Rebels did it.'"

He stepped closer to the trembling Nott and bent to his wounds. Running a long, sharp fingernail across the open gashes, he smiled as Nott flinched and moaned.

He brought his finger to his lipless mouth and his long, red tongue darted out to catch a droplet of deep scarlet blood. In his other hand, the sickly yellow glow emanating from his wand intensified.

"Nott failed me, but so did you, my idiotic subjects. Remember my mercy, my kingly benevolence in his punishment."

As he spoke, he lowered his wand to the bloody mess on Nott's back. Immediately, the yellow light lept to the wound, infecting it. The smell of burning flesh filled the room as Nott shrieked.

"Remember to whom you belong."

000

_Oh shit._

Hermione stood preternaturally still as she gazed, horrified, into Draco's amused silver eyes.

_Gods. He saw me ogling him like he was a _Playwitch_ centerfold, _Hermione's formidable mind stumbled frantically, trying to figure her way out of this predicament._ Oh Gods. This can't get any worse. But he looks so…_

Draco's deep, knowing chuckle rang out over the clearing, causing Hermione to flush a deep crimson from the roots of her hair to her pinky toes. When he smirked mockingly, Hermione snapped out of her horrified embarrassment.

Averting her eyes carefully, she quickly took note of her nearly naked state, and cringed internally.

She needed to get out of here.

Quickly.

Preferably with some of her dignity still intact.

Jerkily pulling on her trousers, she cursed herself for being so stupid. Why, oh why, did she stare like a ninny at Malfoy of all people? And how could she forget that she was nearly naked? Naked!

Fervently hoping that Malfoy wasn't a Legilimens, she avoided all eye contact with the slimy snake. She closed her eyes and tried to banish the disgusting image of Malfoy's naked body from her brain. In with the good, out with the bad, right? Easy.

Hermione took a deep breath, imagined a beautiful, calming sunset, and then waited for the awful picture to leave.

… _Long, sinewy muscles gleamed with water as he surfaced from the steamy waters of the pool, his pectorals and biceps flexing as he brushed water from his eyes… _

Damn it, it wasn't working!

"You can't ignore me forever, you know."

Hermione gritted her teeth at Malfoy's smug voice, trying not to imagine his naked, highly aroused body so very close to her own. "Yes I can. You are exceedingly ignorable."

"Come now," Draco's deep voice intoned, "I am unforgettable."

Hermione snorted in response as she pulled on her trainers.

When Draco spoke again, his voice was closer, huskier, "I remember quite vividly. Don't you remember dancing for me by the firelight? I do. I remember you stripping off your Hogwarts uniform slowly, so slowly, driving me to the brink of insanity with every inch of creamy skin revealed. I wanted to tear off your silly little knickers and mindlessly shove my cock into you until you couldn't breathe."

Hermione's eyes flew to his, her breathing ragged, her pupils dilated, and her body strangely heavy.

Draco's eyes were focused on her face, singularly intense. As he spoke, he moved closer, mesmerizing her like a predator preparing to strike. Softly, intently, he said, "Do you remember our meeting after your naughty, naughty Polynesian dance? I was so hard that I could barely control myself. Feeling the weight of your beautiful breasts in my hands, stroking your soft skin, I could barely breathe, let alone think."

"I remember, Hermione," Draco throatily murmured, "I think about it late at night. In my fantasies, I am surrounded by the scent of jasmine and sex, with you moaning, writhing beneath me as we come together, again and again, our violent need for each other overwhelming our sanity." Draco paused for a moment, and shuddered at the hidden, dark thought, "As I lay in that cold, hard bed all I think about is how desperately I want you, and the thought of you only a thin wall away is driving me mad."

Hermione's mouth went dry as her active imagination supplied image after image of their naked, sweaty bodies entwined. Letting herself give into the attraction between them would be mind-numbing, passionate- and ultimately brief. Hermione's aching body battled with her mind and her overwhelming emotions.

Desire. Reason. Passion. Fear.

As it always did, cool logic triumphed.

But not without regret.

Hermione turned away decisively- back stiff, head bowed- to make the trek back to camp alone.

"Hermione!"

Hermione turned around slowly, and looked at Draco with resolute eyes, not even glancing at his gleaming body. No matter how much her heart secretly wanted to.

"What do you want?"

Draco stood silent for a moment and looked her up and down, calculating silently.

"Well?"

"Well, Granger that was certainly easier than I expected."

Hermione cocked her head slightly, "What do you mean?"

"If all I had to do to get you to leave me alone was to talk dirty to you, I would have tried it ages ago." Draco gave her an infuriating smirk as he submerged himself to his shoulders in the steaming water. "Now I have the pool all to myself."

A part of her knew what he was doing- it was an insultingly obvious jab- but another part, the reckless, courageous Gryffindor part, didn't care.

"Are you saying I am easily manipulated?"

"No. I'm saying that you are a prude and a coward." Draco shook his head in mock surprise, his eyes glittering. "Such a pity."

Hermione glared at his blatant challenge.

Draco's only response was a wicked smile.

It was the breath of wind that toppled the precarious tower of her self-control. Eyes narrowing dangerously, Hermione stormed to the edge of the pool, a razor-thin hold on her self-control.

"Who are you to call me a coward, Draco Malfoy?" Hermione hissed, "I am not a gutless, pale imitation of a human being like you!"

Draco just continued smiling calmly and said simply, "Prove it."

"What?"

"Don't just stand there gaping like a fish. You know what you have to do. Get in- I'll even turn around to protect your prudish modesty."

Hermione stood still for a moment, considering. Then, recklessly, she plopped down on the ground and began to tug at her trainers.

To her relief, Draco turned around promptly, showing her his pale, perfectly sculpted backside.

Preoccupied by staring at the smooth, sleek muscles, Hermione missed Draco's cocky smile of triumph.

Draco stood very, very still listening eagerly to the rustle of Hermione's clothing as she stripped deliciously, gloriously naked. His air of feigned nonchalance was beginning to wear thin. But it was infinitely more fun this way. The chase certainly made the prize substantially more valuable.

He heard a small splash, and then heard Hermione's voice, "All right. You may turn around."

Draco noted two things as he turned.

First, Hermione was wearing a towel covering all of her fun bits.

Secondly, she had her wand trained at him.

Draco felt his lips tug into a reluctant grin. She certainly wasn't making this easy for him.

That was all right though.

He always did like a challenge.

"My, my, Granger. I didn't realize you were so overwhelmed by my manly attributes."

"Hardly," Hermione snorted, "This is to keep you in your place in case you get impertinent."

"Ah. I see."

Draco stretched his long body onto one of the smooth rock shelves and watched Hermione through his eyelashes as he pretended to doze.

She had put her mass of wild hair into a knot at the top of her head in an attempt to control it. However, a few rebellious strands escaped to frame her strong jaw, and to line her graceful neck. He could just see the tops of her breasts peeking out from the top of the pink towel. Even through the thick steam he could see her fidget on her ledge and toy with her wand.

She was nervous.

Perfect.

"So Granger, don't you think it is about time I know what we are acquiring from my house?"

Hermione looked up at him, startled for a moment, and then she gathered her wits.

"Erhm… I suppose so. It's rather a long story, you see, so I'll pare it down a bit. Long ago, the ancient Athenians practiced what we know at the 'Eleusinian Mysteries…'"

Draco shifted a little to give her a better view of his wet, gleaming pectorals.

Hermione promptly lost her train of thought as her mouth went dry.

Draco gently prodded her as she stayed silent, "The Eleusinian Mysteries?"

"Ah yes," Hermione turned away from him and felt her cheeks grow hot, "They were held to honor the Goddess Demeter and her daughter Persephone, the Queen of the Underworld. As a fertility Goddess, Demeter was much revered and the rites gave her cult the chance to ensure the good harvest."

"What was not as well known however was that the festival was also intimately connected to magic and the Wizarding population. The goddess Demeter has worn many names, but as an earth Goddess, her likeness has always been associated with the tides of magic that wax and wane throughout the earth.

"In an ancient account, it was said the Greek Wizards and Witches would use this ceremony to summon a great magic, a primordial, raw, power."

Draco had been silent throughout her speech, filing it away for future contemplation. Thoughtfully, he asked, "So what does the object at Malfoy Manor have to do with any of this?"

Hermione's dark eyes shuttered for a moment, and then she said, "Do you know of a staff in your collections? It is about one and a half meters long, white, with intricate carvings of leaves down its length. It also has a snake ornament at the tip, of what metal I cannot say, but I would guess it would be made of gold."

Draco didn't even have to think about it. "I saw that staff every day until I went to Hogwarts. It's in the study as a prized piece in the Malfoy collection."

Hermione gave a little sigh of relief. "Well, at least that's taken care of. We don't have to waste time digging through your attics."

"Good luck with that. There are rooms up there that _I_ haven't even been in yet."

They descended into uncomfortable silence, each too aware of the other sitting only a few meters away. The water, rippling from her body to his and vice versa, seemed to connect them more intimately than if they had been touching skin to skin.

"So these Greek Wizards, did they have any contact with Muggles?"

Draco sat back and waited for the resulting explosion.

_Three… Two… One… _

"Honestly Malfoy, didn't you pay attention at all in History of Magic?"

"If I remember correctly, and I always do, Professor Binns wasn't the most riveting lecturer."

Hermione snorted indelicately, "Fine. That will make explanations more difficult, but I shall endeavor to make your pitiful mind understand the basics."

"Please do." Draco drawled sarcastically, "I eagerly wait for your wisdom, oh great Know-It-All."

Hermione splashed him in retaliation for his impertinence, causing him to sputter and shake his head. Sunlight caught his blond, wet hair and it gleamed beautifully. Fascinated, Hermione watched it as he moved. _So pretty…_ _Why does such a prat get blessed with such extraordinary hair?_

Nothing relaxed Hermione more than giving a good lecture. She knew this, and as she really warmed up to her topic, explaining the different theories and philosophies of the Greek Wizards and Muggles, her body surrounded by hot water, she relaxed completely, lowering her wand.

Unfortunately for her, Draco knew her weakness.

Although he had been intent on the information that Hermione nervously imparted, he had a greater, larger goal in mind when he asked about the Object.

Her seduction.

As she spoke, Hermione kept her eyes trained on the water, the trees, the slate-grey sky, anything but Draco.

And that was her mistake.

Taking your eyes off a predator was never a good idea, Draco thought to himself with a knowing smile.

Draco closed in on his prey. Creeping closer and closer letting the thick steam shield him, he moved slowly, silently slipping through the water, he moved silently so as not to disturb it, riveted by Hermione's pouting lips so passionately speaking about topics he could care less of at the moment.

What he really wanted was that beautiful mouth fixated passionately on him. Certain areas of his anatomy to be precise.

_Slowly, slowly…_

Suddenly, the thick mist that had been obscuring him blew away with a sudden gust of wind.

Startled at his large form suddenly looming over her, Hermione's voice stumbled and stuttered, and as he stood before her, she fell silent.

He moved closer.

She stood still and watched it happen.

He cupped the back of her head with one of his hands, securing his fingers firmly in her soft hair.

Her wand dropped to the grassy bank.

His lips closed over hers.

She let him.

His lips burned, with their light touch, sending Hermione's already taught nerves into over stimulation. Her world narrowed until it was only Draco. His mouth, his hands, his body, his passion.

Tightly controlling the kiss, he nipped, sucked and gently moved his lips over hers, but Hermione was having none of it. She didn't want tame, she didn't want more control. She was sick of it, sick of the pain, sick of the constant agony of crushing her feelings.

_I want to feel again…_

She placed her hands on his back, stroking those muscles that had fascinated her for so long. She traced from his shoulders to his firm, warm buttocks. When Draco shuddered in response, a jolt of feral triumph shocked through her body, sending hot currents to her core.

She squeezed.

He groaned.

And then, as if some mental tether had snapped, Draco stopped coaxing and started demanding. Growling, mercury eyes gleaming, all pretenses at gentleness disappeared. Hooking his arms around her slender frame, he carried her to the wall of the pool, cornering her against his large body.

Overwhelmed by the feel of him, hard and hot and just so _big_, Hermione arched her torso away from him, only to find that she was trapped. Her eyes flew to his, panicked. Hooded silver orbs stared at her, hungrily.

Then, he began to touch her, and she couldn't think anymore.

Voraciously, Draco sucked on her neck as he ripped off the little pink towel, baring Hermione to his gaze. Her pert breasts were flushed, her nipples were erect and rosy with arousal. He let his eyes travel down her taut stomach to her smoothly flared hips. His steel eyes lingered on her sex for a long moment, relishing what was to come.

_Mine,_ He thought triumphantly.

Staring intently into her dark, glazed eyes, he let his body lean onto hers, and the feeling of her softness on his cock was almost too much to bear. To distract himself, he turned his attention to her breasts. Smoothly rolling her already erect nipples through his fingers, he ignored Hermione's sharp gasp.

Leisurely kissing down her damp skin, he licked the droplets of spring water from the tops of her breasts, slowly sliding his tongue to catch the drops that spilled over. As he grew closer and closer to her nipples, he felt Hermione's breathing grow more and more erratic.

Grinning slightly, Draco took his fingers from her nipple and replaced them with his mouth.

The reaction was instantaneous. Hermione went from a blossoming flower to a firebrand, tugging, demanding, and caressing every inch of skin that she could get a hold of. She touched him desperately, as if she thought he would disappear, as if she were trying to absorb his essence through her skin.

It seemed that their time consisted of brief moments like this- stolen, furtive. _For once,_ Draco thought, _I would like to take my time with her…_

As Draco continued to feast on her breasts, Hermione felt his fingers drift down to her naked hips, lingering at the junction of her thighs. He smoothly tangled his fingers in her curls, over and over, causing rushes of scarlet desire to pour through Hermione's desperate body.

Suddenly, he thrust his fingers forcefully into her tight, wet passage.

Hermione gasped in pain, reality suddenly slamming into her with full force. She couldn't do this. Not with him, not with anyone… _She couldn't let anyone get too close._

Clumsily, still half drunk with desire, she pushed Draco's hard, surprised form away from her body and leapt from the spring. She quickly gathered her clothing and her wand and fled without a glance back at the confused man she left behind.

As the haze of passion slowly melted away, Draco wondered what the hell had just happened.

000

Draco was in the Dojo a week later, trying to cleanse his brain of Hermione.

Her presence was everywhere it seemed. Her gentle scent, a mix of flowers and woman, permeated the house. It was strongest when he woke, after fevered dreams about the flesh he glimpsed at the hot springs, about the desperate, kisses she gave him after he finally coaxed her into succumbing to her desires. He was so close to gaining what he desired…

_What I want is vengeance, _Draco thought a little desperately, as he deftly twirled his quarter-staff, _Granger is just a pleasant distraction._

But he wanted her with an intensity the frightened him. And he was sure it frightened her too, which was why he let her back away at the spring. They had been poised on the edge, a precipice of something big, something…

And he wasn't ready to fall. He told himself that it was a strategic move, a regrouping, but he knew the truth.

Draco Malfoy was a coward to the core.

And if by being a coward, it whet Granger's sensual appetite, well, that was a bonus.

As Draco gracefully went through his proscribed _kata_, he again tried to clear his mind. He had thought about her enough. He didn't want this… _thing_… that they had to deepen into some sort of obsession or anything.

_It's more than that, _his mind whispered.

He tried to think about the facts Granger had rapidly and nervously uttered at the spring. She had been caught off guard, more vulnerable than he had seen her since Hogwarts.

While it would have been very Slytherin of him to take advantage of that fact, he had been too distracted by her naked body to manipulate her into telling him what she knew.

Another first added to an increasingly long and uncomfortable list, Draco thought glumly.

He felt the sweat start to trickle down his naked shoulder blades, and reveled in his growing exhaustion. It meant fewer dreams, fewer nightmares.

Hermione had explained the Eleusinian Mysteries and their connection to the Goddess Demeter, and the outline of the basic ceremony in her bossy, know-it –all voice. She had been sufficiently flustered and exposed for him to tell that it had been the truth.

Yet there had been no mention of the orb, or how the staff was connected to the Eleusinian Mysteries.

And, more importantly, there was no mention of the wish.

Draco absently completed a complicated series of loops around his body with the staff as he pondered the essential question: Was Granger still hiding something from him, or was she unaware of the significance of the orb?

The second-hand account written, presumably, from older documents had been stolen from the Hogwarts library. Draco assumed Granger had it, but he didn't know its contents. That was the key to his power in his precarious situation- knowledge.

Voldemort's vision had shown him that the orb granted a wish. But how did he know that and not Hermione? He wouldn't unless he had access to the primary documents…

Draco staggered a bit at this line of thought, nearly wacking himself in the head with his staff.

What if Hermione didn't know about the wish?

He would have a powerful bargaining tool with her, and with the Rebellion. And if the Rebellion succeeded…

Well. He had to plan for the future, didn't he?

000

A/N: I am so sorry for the long, long break between chapters. I really don't have that much of an excuse except for depression and a really, really bad writers block. But I'm back baby! Thank you to my beta Lorett with the great response time to this chapter- I'll repost when my other beta gets back to me with her corrections. And, as always, thank you my readers! You are amazing!


	13. Chapter Thirteen

'**Vengeance**

**Chapter Thirteen**

000

**Disclaimer-** **I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story, all Harry Potter copyrights belong to J.K. Rowling.**

000

**The best manner of avenging ourselves is by not resembling him who has injured us.  
**

**Jane Porter**

000

They came by moonlight.

With an almost inaudible _pop_ a figure appeared in the woods outside the manicured estate of Malfoy Manor. Dressed in inky black, the tall, slender man grumbled a little to himself as he adjusted his skintight clothing.

"Shhh!" Hissed a voice, "Be quiet!"

Draco Malfoy glared in the direction of the voice, in the empty space immediately to his left.

He spoke softly in an undertone that carried no farther than the trees. "Not all of us are lucky enough to be invisible, Granger." He smirked slightly. "Better in our case that you are hidden, I think. We all know who is deficient in looks in this partnership."

A soft snort emitted from the vicinity of a large elm tree.

Draco smiled slightly in triumph, but his satisfaction was squashed by Hermione's stern disembodied voice.

"Get over yourself, you vain prat. Put on your facemask and transform. You are risking the mission every second you stand there."

"Fine," Draco huffed, "But not one word. I look ridiculous."

"Stop whining and do it!" Hermione snapped irritably, "Your pasty, albino skin and hair need to be covered. It makes us too much of a target. Not that I mind you being cursed by the Death Eaters, but it would reflect so poorly on me."

Reluctantly, Draco tied his shoulder-length platinum hair securely in a knot at the base of his neck. Gingerly, he slipped the black, shimmering cloth over his head, obscuring his features in the darkness.

"Good. No hair showing. Transform before our window of opportunity closes."

Draco's face screwed up in an expression of extreme distaste. "I still think there are other options…"

"…And I still think that you are being a spoiled brat, and that you shouldn't be on this mission," Hermione's voice interrupted, "But here you are. You gave your word to follow my orders. Shall I make an oath-breaker of you?"

"_Not one word_," Draco hissed. He reluctantly closed his eyes as he prepared himself for his animagus transformation.

000

After Draco decided to take the animagus transformation seriously, he had gone into the woods to meditate on numerous occasions. Sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by Hermione or Tonks, he watched them meditate and tried to emulate their inner peace. More often than not, he came back damp, dirty, exhausted and no closer to finding his 'inner animal' than he was before.

One day, about a week ago, he had gone into the woods to meditate, and found his feet taking him down the familiar path to the spring. As he walked, he listened to the quiet rustling of the leaves that the wind rushed past, he smelt the vaguely sweet scent of decaying leaves and felt his tense nerves begin to calm.

As he approached the spring, his mind was assaulted by images of his last visit. Hermione's soft, flushed skin and wide, uncertain eyes filled his mind. Shaking his head slightly, he smiled softly at the images. He didn't try to banish them forcefully, didn't try to absorb himself in them as he did at night when he took hold of his thick cock to try to gain relief. This time he let the visions flow through him as he remembered quietly.

Draco slowly stripped off his clothes in the chilly air, and placed them on the loamy earth next to the steaming water. With a sigh, he plunged his weary body into the spring. As he laid there, his head propped up by the rocks, he let his mind drift. His corded, tense muscles softened, the strain eased from his face.

Plotting and machinations drifted away. Worries floated by lazily. Guilt faded into breaths of shadows.

Voldemort didn't exist. Hogwarts was a subconscious memory. His mother was a lingering whisper. Hermione was a beautiful dream long forgotten.

Draco was finally at peace.

Then, it happened.

He didn't even notice the transformation at first. He had concentrated on the wordless transformation so much the past few weeks, it flowed naturally from his subconscious. His form blurred and shifted as the animagus transformation took over his body.

His eyes still closed, he panicked as he realized his body was shrinking, his bottom no longer touching the stone bench in the hot spring. Frantically trying to swim in the unfamiliar body he miraculously made it to the bank without drowning.

_What the hell is going on? _Draco tried to shout, but all that came out of his mouth were a series of unintelligible squeaks.

He felt a sudden surge of horror run through him. _Oh, no._ _I'm not… I'm not a ferret. I can't be!_

He looked at himself, and could only make out patches of wet, white fur and felt sick.

_Well, _Draco thought disgustedly, _I had better go to the camp and get a mirror and see how much damage control I have to do._

"Huh," came a loud, amused voice from high above.

If Draco could have sighed, he would have.

"Not what I expected, but somehow appropriate. Don't you think so, Gin?"

Ginny's only response had been a howl of laughter.

000

"…Transform, Malfoy, we're wasting time!"

"Do I have to? I can go just as well in my black outfit here. It's miserable outside. The Death Eaters will never see me."

The disembodied voice sighed impatiently. "Malfoy, we've talked about this. You know it's the only way for us to get even near the compound. Your outfit, while dark, makes a nice, man-shaped shadow on the ground. You'll be discovered within minutes. And do you really want to be dead or in the hands of our dear Dark King again?"

Draco glared at the place where her voice was coming from. "Fine. But no laughing."

"Me? Why Malfoy, I would never dream of laughing at your Animagus self. It's such a noble animal, so proud. And you have such a history of commenting on…"

"Yes. I got the point the first ten times you said it."

He huffed quietly at the indignity, and closed his eyes and concentrated. Soon he felt the familiar tingling in his extremities, heard the sounds of the forest grow sharper, his sense of smell heightened, telling him that Hermione was closer to him than he expected. She smelled of jasmine again, and cinnamon.

He opened his eyes as he heard Hermione giggling.

_You promised! _Draco tried to shout but it only came out as an indignant squeak.

A large, perfectly white weasel stood on the ground, glaring at the noise with beady grey eyes.

_I'll bite you! _

"Sorry, Draco. It's just that… you're so cute!"

_Annoying bint, _Draco thought, and adamantly refused to give her more ammunition by getting worked up again. That, apparently, made him 'cuter.'

He felt strong hands grasp him by the sides, and was soon lifted into the air. He heard her soft sigh as she quickly stuffed him into her shirt, putting him in the sling underneath her breasts that was made to hold him still during her acrobatics.

"Now, don't get any ideas, Malfoy."

As he cuddled against her soft bosom, he thought, _I suppose my Animagus form isn't all bad._

000

Hermione took a deep breath and stood still as Draco adjusted his position against her body. She felt his soft fur against the underside of her breasts, and her blood started to boil.

_That pervert! _Hermione thought, grinding her teeth in an effort to control her temper,_ Can't he control his Slytherin impulses for once? Just once! That's all I ask. _

Whispering a silencing spell on her feet, she smiled grimly. _No, that would mean that the world has ended._

She took a deep breath. _Focus Hermione. This isn't going to be easy…_

And it wasn't.

After Draco was declared a traitor, Voldemort's hordes had descended onto Malfoy Manor, eager to grasp the treasures that lay within.

They were in for a nasty surprise.

Many of the Death Eaters had been to the Manor before, at one time or another, but none of them had fully realized the true extent of the wards around the ancient house. Entering the grounds with the intent to kill the woman within and plunder the house was tantamount to a death sentence, as they soon found out.

After a few nasty 'accidents,' the Death Eaters quickly backed off. Licking their wounds, they viciously made sure that if they couldn't get into Malfoy Manor, nothing would get out, either, at least through conventional methods. If something set foot onto the grounds, either coming from or going to, they wanted it dead.

Dementors, it seemed would not go near the place due to some strange vibrations in the wards, so the Death Eaters turned to the next best thing.

Hell-hounds.

As Hermione looked into the shifting fog to the hulking shadow of the huge Manor in the distance, she shivered. Her experiences with the hell-hound first year left her cringing. They were so incredibly lucky and so incredibly _stupid_ back then…

Turning her mind to more practical thoughts, she patted a flute in her sleeve that she had charmed to play music if she got caught in a pickle with one of the creatures. Thoroughly giving herself a once over with the best deodorizing spell she knew, she took a deep breath.

_Alright, Fluffy. It's just you and me this time._

She stepped onto the immaculately manicured grounds swiftly, carefully. The adrenaline coursing through her heightened her senses, but it also made her edgy. As she wove around various flowerbeds and shrubberies, she jumped at every break in the mist.

_Damn, _Hermione thought as she silently picked her way through a topiary garden,_ I really, really wish I could see._

Luckily, the shadow of Malfoy Manor was unmistakable in the thick fog. Unfortunately, she may be off their carefully planned trajectory. Squinting at the house, she wondered if she should adjust her angle of approach. She was supposed to end up on the south porch, which was the easiest vector of entry. Was she drifting east?

_WHUFF!_

Hermione bit back a scream. Undoubtedly, it was what saved her, for the beast was upon her with a speed that left her breathless with fear.

It was as ugly as she remembered it. The three monstrous, slobbering heads looked eagerly in all directions, scouting prey. One of the heads was looking at the Manor longingly, undoubtedly thinking of the food therein. Another head was chewing on what looked like, to Hermione's horror, the leg of a House-Elf.

And one of the heads was staring straight at her.

She didn't know how it knew she was there, or if it even knew for sure. Maybe some beastly instinct was coming to bear, or maybe it was just coincidence.

Merlin, she hoped it was coincidence.

Holding her breath, Hermione moved her hand very, very slowly to the sleeve that held the flute.

Draco chose that moment to shift position, making a soft rustling noise in his sling.

The Beast's ears perked up, and all three heads swung in her direction, giving her a close up of dozens of white, razor-sharp teeth.

_Draco, if we get out of this alive, I am going to kill you!_

It took one lumbering step forward, its three noses sniffing carefully. As it slowly moved towards her, Hermione methodically moved her hand towards the flute, desperate to get to it before the creature found her.

_Can't rush…Slow… Slower!…Got it!_

Ripping it from, her sleeve, the flute immediately started to play a soothing lullaby.

The beast growled, and one of the heads lunged in her direction, but the other two were already starting to nod off. Hermione backed away quickly, but not before getting a face full of rancid breath, and a close-up of the terrifying teeth.

Sitting on the ground, shivering, Hermione waited until the beast was completely asleep. Gently, she placed the flute on the dew-laden grass.

Cautiously, carefully, Hermione picked her way towards the manor, even though she wanted to run like hell. She cloaked her fear in control. She needed to get to the house as quickly as possible, but she didn't need any more of Fluffy's brethren to descend upon her. One could only carry so many musical instruments on one's person, after all.

_That, I think, took about ten years off of my life,_ Hermione thought once she was on the porch.

"Now Malfoy," Hermione whispered as she set the white weasel gently on the ground, "Do whatever it is you have to do to get us in there."

Draco shook himself off, rubbing his white fur with his paws. Very prissily, in Hermione's estimation. She had to suppress her giggles for fear of Draco's becoming loudly vocal again, which would surely bring the hounds upon them again. Closing his silver eyes in concentration, soon his form began to grow, and he was consumed by the tell-tale flash of light as he transformed.

"Give me your hand." Draco murmured quietly when he fully righted himself, "I'm going to lead you into the house. It'll recognize you then."

"That's it?" Hermione hissed, incredulous.

"Well, yes," Hermione could _hear_ the smirk in his voice, "I am the master of the house. It does what I tell it to do."

Hermione softly groaned, but gave him her hand. Draco squeezed it fondly as he led her over the threshold.

000

As Hermione locked and secured the door, Draco tore off his dark mask and whooped loudly. In an uncharacteristically inelegant gesture, he pumped his fist into the air, his blond hair flying about wildly.

"… Draco?"

Hermione and Draco quickly pivoted; wands raised and ready, and saw a tall, graceful lady at the top of the staircase. Pale, with long still-blonde hair in a simple plait, she clutched at the neck of her violet dressing gown. Her blue eyes were huge, her breath coming out in short gasps.

Draco's skin went white (which was saying a lot, considering how pale it usually was) and he softly rasped, "Mum?"

With a little shriek, Narcissa launched herself down the staircase, while Draco sprinted across the foyer to meet her. Laughing, crying, they embraced, Draco curling his larger body around his mother's protectively.

"You're all right," Narcissa cried and she frantically assayed him for injuries, "I didn't know. Oh my baby, you're all right!"

"Mum." Draco cupped her cheek fondly, wiping away her tears with his long fingers, "Oh, Mum. Please stop crying. I'm alright, really I am."

Hermione turned away, putting her wand away unseen, her eyes stinging painfully. Feeling like a filthy voyeur peeping on such an intimate scene, she edged away silently so as not to disturb their reunion.

Watching them, she was forced to realize that most of what she assumed about Pureblood families was most likely wrong. She had never thought that Malfoy had grown up with loving parents, but obviously his mother loved him desperately. He had probably grown up in a situation similar to herself, now that she thought about it. The beloved only child of two intelligent people- pampered, indulged… adored.

Hermione leaned against the doorframe, closing her eyes tightly at the realization. _They were so similar. So fucking similar…_Hermione fought the tears rising in her throat. _I hate this war. I _hate_ it. _

Hermione looked at the wall, trying to suppress the memories of her parents, the Weasleys, Ron… Harry…

_I haven't told him yet who murdered his father._ Hermione felt a surprising sting of guilt at the thought. He was Death Eater. They were _both_ Death Eaters… But what did that even mean anymore? Lost in her thoughts, Hermione didn't notice Draco and Narcissa's reunion coming to an end.

Draco's mother gave him one last kiss, and she started up the long staircase, not looking back. Draco watched her until she disappeared. Then, abruptly, he spun on his heels and marched down a long, dark corridor, leaving Hermione to scramble along in his wake.

000

Draco felt a sharp pang of bittersweet nostalgia as he entered the study. The familiar scent of burning wood, the heavy furniture, the squeak of newly polished wood under his feet all spoke to his soul. He was home. _So many memories. Damn Voldemort for taking this away from me. It's mine! I shouldn't have had to leave it behind._

_There:_ _His father smiled down at him from his desk grey eyes crinkling, "I did promise flying lessons today, didn't I?"_

_There:_ _Sitting in front of the fireplace with his father, feeling his first taste of firewhiskey burning all the way from his throat to his belly. He didn't like it, but it made him feel grown up._

_There_: _"Here, son, I want you to have this." He took the signet ring from his father's outstretched hand. "It was mine, and now it's yours."_

_There:_ _His father held out a jeweler's box, holding a magnificent rope of emeralds and pearls. "What do you think, Draco? Do you think she'll like them?"_

His throat felt tight, his eyes felt itchy… _Not again. First Mum, now this. I'm turning into a Hufflepuff. A female Hufflepuff, no less._

Draco walked purposefully towards the desk, sloughing off the memories. They wouldn't do him any good now, and he needed to focus. He gathered up a few of his papers to conceal his efforts to contain himself in front of Granger. Uncharacteristically, she tactfully remained silent.

He shoved a few documents into his pockets, and looked up. Hermione had taken off her mask, and now her disembodied head was studying the cases intently, her expressive face torn between curiosity and determination. Looking regretfully at the myriad of treasures elegantly displayed in the various cases, she asked quietly, "Where is it, Malfoy? Let's grab it so we can get out of here and meet the others."

Smiling slightly at her predictability, he turned to the large case to the right of the desk. It contained an ancient bronze chalice resting on a swatch of black velvet, a tiny red pillbox, and haunting china shepherdess whose dead, painted eyes seemed to stare into the soul.

And the staff.

It was long and slender, about a meter and a half in length with the snake symbol for eternity winking at him from the tip. With Draco's new combat training, he could appreciate its fine contours, the carved oak leaves giving it a grip so his sweaty hands wouldn't slip in the middle of a battle. His palms itched to have it in his hands to test its weight and balance.

"It's strange," he murmured as he practiced the complex unlocking charm.

"What is?"

Draco took a moment to speak the charm, cockily grinning to Hermione when the case swung open without incident. His grin grew wider when she rolled her eyes at him.

"This thing has been here for as long as I can remember." Draco paused for a moment, and the incredible stress of the night, his situation, his life crashed into him, "I'm stealing something I _already own_."

They looked at each other for a moment, and a warm feeling of harmony frissioned through them. Draco's grey eyes meshed softly with Hermione's dark ones, and for once there were no barriers between them.

Neither one of them, later, could quite figure out who started laughing first.

Titters turned to giggles to guffaws to side-splitting peals of hilarity. It was more from desperation than real humor, but it made them feel better anyway.

Hermione's face was red, her nose scrunched up cutely, as she held her sides, "Breaking… into… own house…"

Draco, leaning onto the case heavily, was wiping tears from his eyes. He watched her struggle to control her mirth and noticed how her brown eyes darkened when she laughed, how her left cheek had an intriguing dimple, and that her smile left him a visceral ache in the region of his heart.

Heat washed through his body, causing his breath to quicken.

_Not now, _Draco thought desperately, _I do not need this now._

Draco quickly turned from Hermione and grabbed the staff.

_Bad idea_.

Draco felt as if he'd been hit full force with jolts of pure, breath-stealing, galvanizing power.

He couldn't move, couldn't think. His hand was locked around the staff. He could see the muscles in his forearm bulging, his veins standing out as an incredible _presence_ raced through his body, invading him.

It stomped through his brain accessing his consciousness. He 'felt,' for lack of a better word, its joy at being summoned, its hunger for knowledge, and its overwhelming enthusiasm to know more about _him_.

It wasn't like having his mind raped by Voldemort. No, this was more direct and efficient; melting away his layers of defenses like they were butter and the staff was the noonday sun in the tropics. But it was gentler as well. He didn't feel like he was losing his essential self in this maelstrom. Just exposing it.

Images, coming so quickly he couldn't process them flickered through his mind. Feelings- hate, love, anger, joy, despair, hope- tore through him fast enough to break the sound barrier.

But above all was a song. He couldn't quite place it, but it felt as intimately familiar to him as his own voice.

A voice gradually penetrated the beauty of the song, blending with it, echoing its harmonies.

"… Draco?... oh, Draco… sorry… shouldn't… My fault!"

He concentrated harder on the words trying to make them out. The song faded slightly, but still sang happily in the back of his mind.

"…don't die… If you left me too, I don't think… bear it…"

He cracked his eyes slightly, and saw her hovering over him.

Hermione.

_Yessss…_

A deep voice stirred from deep within him, blending with the song, urging him to taste her, take her, love her…

His hand rose from the bed and burrowed itself into her luxurious curls. _Bed? She must have lifted me to my bed here at the Manor. _Draco noted this absently, but he mostly didn't care. His predatory focus was trained on Hermione.His other hand, which had been clutching the staff, came up to join its mate and traced the streams of tears on her cheeks while tugging her closer to him.

"Don't cry," he whispered softly in her ear, his voice adding to the beautiful song growing within him, "I'm alright."

His intense grey gaze locked onto her unfathomable dark one as he slowly brought her mouth down to his.

The touch of her lips on his felt like coming home had. Both familiar and exciting, it started a deep, aching churning in his gut.

Softly, gently, he stole sweet drugging kisses from her supple mouth, drawing her deeper and deeper into the song that Draco felt pounding through his body. When she traced his lips with her tongue, he felt a swift rush of triumph, but groaned at the deep spurt of desire that shot to his cock.

He tightened his arms around her, fisting his hands in her soft hair, ravaging her mouth, desperate to feel her, to taste her. All of his years of pent up sexual tension exploded in one deep, needy kiss. Her lips were warm, moving desperately against his, and his need grew hotter and brighter.

_I've wanted this, oh gods, I've wanted this since I first saw her all of those years ago._

Then they were tearing clothes, ripping them apart, until one of them had the presence of mind to whisper a vanishing spell.

Suddenly naked, the friction of Hermione's smooth, perfect skin against his own was almost too much for his poor, fuzzy brain to comprehend. His heart accelerated, the song jumped from a steady allegro moderato straight to presto. He realized that he needed to slow down, or this would be over much, much to fast.

And he had waited to damn long for it to be over so quickly.

"I want," Draco rasped, pulling back slightly, "I want to make this good for you."

Hermione opened her eyes, her kiss-swollen lips parted in surprise. Her little pink tongue darted out to wet them. He closed his eyes at the arousing sight. _I'm going to die before this is over._

"Yes," she whispered. "Show me. I want to feel again. But I've never… I've never done this before."

He swallowed hard at her words, and gazed upon her naked body. In the flickering firelight, her skin was golden. She was dainty from the tips of her toes to her lovely curly eyelashes. It was so easy for him to forget how physically small she was sometimes, her presence was so powerful.

He smiled in satisfaction.

Putting his own need to drive into her wetness on the back burner, he decided to explore the body he had coveted for so long. Kissing his way down her graceful neck, he made his way to her breasts. Cupping them gently, he licked and kissed and suckled until she was panting and tangling her graceful fingers in his long blond hair.

He kissed her flat belly lightly, raking it with his teeth and chuckled a bit when she squirmed. _Ticklish, eh? I'll have to remember that later._

When he kissed the very top of her mons, he looked up and saw Hermione watching him intently, her hands fisted in the sheets.

He smirked.

She scowled.

He then gave her clit one long, slow lick, and the scowl melted from her face, replaced with the kind of bliss he had only imagined in his dreams. He felt himself start to sweat as he knelt between her legs, his excitement heating up his body to an unbearable temperature.

Carefully, inserting a long finger into her wetness, he methodically pumped her in time to the relentless strokes of his mouth on her clit until she was thrashing and moaning. When he felt her wall start to contract, he pulled out and crawled back up her slick body.

Draco was so hard, he couldn't think straight. Mindlessly seeking her hands, he interwove his fingers with hers as the pulsing drumbeats echoed in his brain.

"Hermione?" he panted, his pale body flushed with arousal, "Are you ready, because I… I can't hold back any longer."

"Gods," she groaned thickly, "Draco, yes!"

Her breathy voice rich with desire spun into Draco's brain, interweaving with the tune driving him. He positioned himself at her entrance, and groaned at the feel of her heat against his swollen cock. Slowly sliding in, inch by inch into her narrow, tight channel, he felt Hermione stiffen. Murmuring nonsense to her, he carefully moved within her, reveling in the fluttering of her wet, tight muscles against his cock.

Soon, he felt her wiggle, trying to match his movements as they quickened an aching beginning within her womb.

"Put your legs around me, darling." Draco moaned.

As with all things, Hermione was a quick study. Soon, they were thrusting together, their grunts, gasps and cries heightening the song, urging it to a peak.

Bracing himself on their joined hands, Draco thrust harder, faster, hitting a new position, causing Hermione to twist and cry out in pleasure. Draco opened his eyes.

_This… this is real…_

He felt Hermione's muscles begin to flutter around him in prediction of her orgasm, and couldn't hold himself back any longer. With a triumphant yell, he came in a crescendo of screaming bliss, feeling Hermione stiffen and cry her pleasure beneath him.

He fell upon her, too sated to move, not wanting to ever withdraw himself from her warmth. But he knew he was too heavy for her, so he reluctantly withdrew his softening prick from her depths.

Draco curled his larger frame around Hermione, his hands tangling in her curls. As he went to sleep, he contently wondered why the song had changed into a lullaby…

000

A/N: Yeah. It's been a long time! I am in medical school now, am still writing, but am incredibly busy most of the time. I'll update when I can, but it won't be very regular (not that it was to begin with!) Anyway, mucho thanks to my lovely beta Lorett, who makes my chapters readable and many, many thanks to all of my readers who believed in me! Without you, I wouldn't be doing this!


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